


Cherry Colored Funk

by Blucifer



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Changbin and Chan just want to get married and have a threesum, Dandy boy Kim Seungmin, Drunk Sex, Kim Seungmin & Kim Wonpil are Siblings, Las Vegas, Las Vegas Wedding, M/M, Oral Sex, Seungmin just wants to be less of a nerd, Threesome, Vomiting, established changbang, in that order, pretentious rich artboys changbin and chan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-29
Updated: 2020-01-11
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:47:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 29,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21610036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blucifer/pseuds/Blucifer
Summary: If Wonpil is cool, then Seungmin is tepid. Nothing discernibly disagreeable about him, but nothing particularly inspiring or captivating. He lives a privileged life in Massachusetts to escape his equally, but differently privileged life in New York. He spends more time with his stock portfolio than his photography portfolio. Future Harvard graduate, future law student, future lawyer. Tepid.But he’s so tired of being tepid and being cool just isn’t working out. These guys, Changbin and Chan, are hot, and make him feel like he could be hot too.
Relationships: Bang Chan/Kim Seungmin, Bang Chan/Seo Changbin, Bang Chan/Seo Changbin/Kim Seungmin, Kim Seungmin/Seo Changbin
Comments: 82
Kudos: 357





	1. Wolf in the Breast

**Author's Note:**

> For best results, put on "Heaven or Las Vegas," by Cocteau Twins and don't ask a lot of questions.

C'mon c'mon c'mon.” This "free" hotel wifi is absolute garbage. His parents won’t pay for the upgrade because it’s charged by the room. Yeah, a couple hundred a night on a suite is fine, but a couple hundred  _ and fourteen ninety-five,  _ which he would totally reimburse, is too expensive. 

“Ah, Seungie, keep your money.” 

Why? When the twenty in his wallet means nothing when it could buy him the pure unmitigated joy of functioning internet. 

He should be absolutely used to his parents’ boundless neuroticism by now, god knows enough of it has rubbed off onto  _ him.  _ For example, when he first moved away to college, he learned that it’s kind of weird to save and rewash ziploc bags until the seams start leaking and flatten tinfoil after it’s been used. This of course, he learned after his suitemate stared at him like he had a second head. 

Furtively, Seungmin mashes the refresh button on screen. The ticker disappears, browser window fades to white, and reloads slowly.

"Pleeease." Mom’s hitting the spa, and dad has tee time scheduled, which means it’s a perfect time to hit up Armani Exchange, snag a few end of season items, and then destroy the evidence like tags, and bags and receipts. 

Seungmin shifts and catches a whiff of something foul. Body odor combined with the scent of Cashmere Mist deodorant. Why the hell is that stuff so expensive if it’s absolutely useless out in the desert heat? 

Sweat beads at his temple and his upper lip, but throwing an oversized pool towel over his head to shield himself from the sun is the best solution he can think of. Seungmin’s not having a  _ working  _ vacation, no sir, just relaxation. Nevermind the fact that he had a recurring nightmare in the days leading up to departure. In these nightmares, his LSAT books would make his bag overweight and then they wouldn’t clear TSA and he’d have to trash them all, including the invaluable notes written in the margins of the page _.  _

And he doesn’t believe in e-books because research says you learn more from paper than screens anyway. 

This is  _ optional.  _ Not some nervous tic he developed when he was studying for the SAT a few years ago and deleted and blocked every  _ single  _ app on his phone except for E-Trade for 16 hours a day. 

Pixel by pixel the page loads as oppressive desert heat beams down upon his legs and the nape of his neck. Hell even the soles of his feet feel hot underneath the sun. Scroll, scroll, scroll through his portfolio and  _ boom.  _ There it is. ASM, initially purchased for $1.25 a share, it’s grown nicely with the announcement of a new merger three months ago and trade conference announcements rolling in. 

"Seungmin, c’mon!" His brother interrupts. Followed by a muffled "nerd," and the cold splash of water against his feet. 

“Wonpil,” his voice spikes into annoyance and then softens when he realizes that’s exactly what his older brother wants. “Fuck off.” 

Dragging his fingers across the trackpad, Seungmin doesn't hesitate for a second before pressing "sell." 

It's not the easiest $500 he’s ever made. In fact, when he factors in all the food he’s bought Wonpil the past few days, poutine, and shrimp cocktail, and sage chicken...When he takes into account the tips he’s been sliding hotel staff when his parents stare blankly at tip lines and open palms, it feels hard earned.

His phone rings with an oh so satisfying  _ ka-ching  _ of a virtual cash register. Only then does he shuck the beach towel shroud and tuck his rose gold macbook into his bag. 

Stepping out of his Hilfiger slides, he darts to the pool’s edge, impervious to the lifeguard’s harsh whistle. In a  _ perfect _ , track and field high jump arch he dives backwards into the deep end. 

Holding his breath until his lungs burn, he traverses half of the pool until he can see the familiar outline of the pink pool float they rented. Flipping the raft is a split second decision that he wonders whether or not he can get away with. They don’t know each other that well anymore. Six years between them, and almost as many years Wonpil’s lived in LA. Seungmin does it anyway, dragging Wonpil into the water. 

Resurfacing for air, he’s pushed back down immediately. They exchange furtive pinches and kicks underwater. Chlorine burns his nose and the back of his throat, but he doesn’t stop until Wonpil’s soaked and sputtering just like him. 

“I  _ knew  _ those Harvard snobs hadn’t ruined you yet,” and he certainly didn’t think his brother would ever sound so happy to be unceremoniously dumped into the pool __

“You’re a snob too you know,”  _ sure  _ he dropped out of Cornell years ago to work his way through almost every single art school in southern California but Wonpil can’t exactly escape his squeaky clean, argyle, New England past. Especially when they’re together. 

Together, they take the pool float and fold it, wedging it underneath their arms they rest their torsos on the float and let their legs trail down into the deep. They talk about the kinds of things that two people who know each other really well, but don’t really know each other at all can talk about. Wonpil asks him if he’s gotten into law school yet and tells him that he hasn’t even taken the LSAT. He then has to explain what the LSAT is. 

Seungmin asks him if he’s still living in the apartment with the former reality television star and the Scientologist. Wonpil responds that he’s moved in with Dowoon with some of their friends. 

“So, I was thinking about leaving you here tonight with mom and dad while they went to the Elvis tribute show but--” 

“Oh, the benevolent cool god Wonpil is gonna grace me with is presence?” There’s rancor in his voice but his heart is beating fast because his brother is  _ so cool _ and who knows what kind of  _ cool things  _ that he does when Seungmin’s not around. 

Wonpil definitely doesn’t spend his free time updating his stock portfolio. 

“I don’t know. If you can behave, I think I’ll take you to a party. Some friends of mine live out here.” Wonpil may have “settled down” in Los Angeles, but his home is anywhere he can charm someone with a smile. 

Wonpil isn’t just surface level cool. Wonpil lives in LA. Has a boyfriend. Plays keyboard in a band. Dropped out of an Ivy league school to go to art school. Has a tattoo. Does whatever the fuck he wants and doesn’t have to step on anybody in the process of getting it. Coolness with a depth that Seungmin can’t even imagine. 

If Wonpil is cool, then Seungmin is tepid. Nothing discernibly disagreeable about him, but nothing particularly inspiring or captivating. He lives a privileged life in Massachusetts to escape his equally, but differently privileged life in New York. He’s come out to a collective four people. He spends more time with his stock portfolio than his photography portfolio because that’s what his “friends” in his econ classes do. Future Harvard graduate, future law student, future lawyer. He does every little thing he can to make his parents happy. Tepid. 

There’s nothing more tepid than a guy habitually checking MarketWatch on his phone. 

But nobody other than Wonpil knows that about him now. What is it that they say about this place in television advertisements and travel agent brochures? 

What happens here stays here? 

Like his honors thesis, and his practice LSAT scores, and his 4.0 GPA won’t even know that it happened? 

“Yeah. That sounds really cool.” 

* * *

Can fair weather friends exist if you’re in a city with an estimated average precipitation of 4.08 inches per year? Not that he checked. 

Can fair weather friends exist if that friend is your brother? He’d call anyone else a dick for the way he’s acting, but he knows that it’s not intentional. No, this is just how Wonpil happens to be. 

Wonpil grabs his shoulder while he’s slapping other guys on the shoulder and says, “hey bro, this is my bro,” to at least a half dozen people. If there is one thing that Seungmin does know, it’s that his older brother is a combination of super outgoing and incredibly flighty. In no time at all a conversation about the intricacies of a music festival in Colorado last month leads Wonpil across the room and Seungmin alone in the peripheral of several conversations that he couldn't care less about. 

The bits of conversation that he gleans, are riveting. “You know, his gallery installation is a real scam. Dude sold out.” 

And, “I just really. Honestly? Need something more in my life than going to AA and waiting for my vibrator to recharge.” 

“I like your sweater,” a girl brushes against his arm to get his attention and in the process spills red wine down the oatmeal colored sleeve. “Oops.” 

He  _ just  _ got this from Armani Exchange. Fantastic 

A few people ask who he knows here, and when telling people that he’s Wonpil’s brother becomes too much, the conversation simply evaporates like a shallow puddle left out in the hot desert sun. 

But there’s nothing more tepid than than a guy habitually checking MarketWatch on his phone. So he swipes a brown bottle from a six pack pushed behind a chair and discovers that he absolutely hates IPA beer and it doesn’t matter what the hell Wonpil says they’re still  _ disgusting.  _

Then, he manages to swipe a mango hard seltzer from a girl who insists that he have one and, “ain’t no laws with claws.” It’s much less offensive, but he’d much rather have something with sugar. 

Alcohol takes off the edge and he feels free to roam the house as he sees fit. Taking it all in, he’s like some khaki clad anthropologist observing the indigenous people who have never been exposed to societies that know how to tie a Windsor knot or the difference between an oxford and a loafer. 

As he walks through the house, he discovers a white baby grand piano plastered with bright red  _ Supreme  _ box logo stickers and Seungmin can’t decide if that’s cool or if that’s tacky. All he knows for sure is that the night won’t end without Wonpil playing it. 

There’s a lot about this home that makes him ask that question, cool or tacky? It's like a rich person bought it and left a broke college student to fend for themselves while decorating. Fake deep mixes with real deep. A chunk of drywall is missing from the foyer, around it is a baroque style frame. A card with neat typeface reads, “Han Jisung, Mixed media: Rum and drywall, 2019” as if this were a work of art in a museum. Next to it is an abstract painting that looks absolutely museum worthy because of how it takes his breath away. 

Through the hallway, a mostly topless woman parades past him.  _ Mostly  _ topless, because liquid latex doesn’t count. In the hallway, a poetry reading goes awry when the poet abandons the spoken word in favor of writhing around on the carpet clawing at his shirt. The syllables of whatever poem he’s reciting are lost in his histrionic display.

Even though his face feels hot, there’s no way in hell he’s drunk enough for this. 

The whole place smells like weed. Which is  _ fine.  _ It’s legal here, and even if it wasn’t he’s totally fine with it. 

But the smoke in the air makes his throat feel dry, and you know what’s great for a dry throat? A  _ drink.  _

After winding his way through what seemed to be an endless chain of living rooms and foyers, Seungmin finds the kitchen and ultimately the promise of more booze, because this anthropologist is almost ready to go learn the customs of the natives.  _ Mingle.  _ If you will. 

Lovely. There’s a  _ human sacrifice  _ of some kind taking place in the kitchen.

Deep in ritual, perhaps an offering to the god of hangovers, a hedonistic scene unfolds directly in front of him on the kitchen island. 

Something tells him it’s not a virgin sacrifice. The hottest guy he’s ever seen, dressed of course in the ceremonial garb of all black, lays on his back upon the marble counter top. His shirt is raked high, and Seungmin could probably wash the stain out of his sweater with his abs. 

“Enjoy it while it lasts,” the  _ stressfully  _ attractive sacrifice taunts one of the men running the ceremony. Then, as if he’s accepted his fate, he interrupts his smirk by balancing a wedge of green lime between his own lips. 

_ Cannibalism!?  _

God, his accent is so good too. It’s kind of not fair that this guy is not only the hottest guy he’s ever seen, but the hottest guy he’s ever heard. Some kind of brain breaking dissonance when you see someone with the face of one continent, and the voice of another, who lives on a third, because swear to god this guy is an amalgamation of every guy he’s fantasized about since the first time he rubbed one out to a Red Box copy of  _ Wolverine.  _

“Ah c’mon, what’s a bodyshot between friends?” A man with a matching accent taunts before burying his face in the other man’s navel. Shamelessly, he laps at toned white skin before trailing upward, and seizing the lime wedge from between his lips. 

Holy fuck. 

This debauchery is met with thunderous applause from several other men watching the whole scene unfold.

“Hey,” 

The blood in Seungmin’s body runs cold, but what can he expect? He intruded on this most sacred ritual and did absolutely nothing to conceal himself.  _ The natives. _

He’s sitting up now with his shirt pulled back down and cheeks flushed red. Messy tousled hair matches so well with roughed and simultaneously exquisite designer clothes. Oh my god, he looks like he’s just been fucked. “You look like you need a drink.” 

Words. Words would be great right now. He knows a lot of them because LSAT. 

“Aw shit, Chan’s getting cold feet,” one of the boys surrounding the kitchen island teases. 

“No, I--” And then Chan’s horror seems to match his own for a moment, eyes wide with panic. “I mean, you don’t have to take a--if you’d rather have a real glass you can--” 

_ If. You’d. Rather.  _ Rather. An indication of preference. Rather. Implying two or more choices. Does he have a choice here? Body shot or glass? 

Fuck it. He’s never gonna be cool like Wonpil. But he’s out in the desert, so why not be hot like this guy? 

“No,” his voice sounds shaky. But he’s so  _ tired  _ of being tepid and being  _ cool  _ just isn’t working out. This guy is  _ hot.  _ Makes him feel like he could be hot too. Forget stocks, roulette, or twenty-one, cause if he’s gonna take a gamble it’s gonna be on his own terms. as soon as he gets back home, it’s finals, and LSAT, and applications, and law school. If not now, when? He’s going all in. “I’ll have what he's drinking," he says gesturing to the boy who just took the body shot. And then, because that’s more forward with anyone he’s ever been in his life, including the time he lost his virginity. “If that’s cool.” 

“Yeah, I think that’s cool, bro,” one of the boys at the counter grabs for the tequila bottle and shoves at Chan’s shoulder. 

“Han, don’t I get a say in this?” Han? as in, “Han Jisung, Mixed Media: rum and drywall” holds a lot of power right now. Chan’s face is beet red. And then, as if something were snapped back into place, Chan grabs another wedge of lime. “Of course it’s fine.”

Chan lies back onto the kitchen island. Lifts his shirt back up real slow. Someone dribbles amber colored liquid onto his pale skin. Maybe for the first time ever he’s regretful that he’s neglected two years of house, graduation, and yacht parties because if this is the norm, he’s really missed out. 

Seungmin grips at the v of his hips and lowers his head toward Chan’s body. God this has to look obscene. Fuck this  _ better  _ look obscene because it’s too late to be shy. Meeting Chan’s shining gaze he can only hope that he comes across a fraction as sexy-confident as Chan. “Cheers?” 

“Cheers mate.” 

Seungmin dips his tongue into Chan’s abdomen. Immediately he’s met by the smoky burn of tequila. Lapping at it as quickly as possible, it burns the back of his throat, and he doesn’t get the chance to enjoy fluttering skin beneath him. 

“That tickles.” 

Desperate to salvage anything, he laps a long stripe up Chan’s toned stomach boldly stopping at the crest of his chest where his black crewneck is pulled across his chest. Upward, he captures the wedge of lime. In that moment, the briefest contact is made between their lips. 

* * *

“Do you do that often?” 

“Do what?” 

“Sacrifice yourself to the house party gods?”

Chan laughs in response,“yeah, I committed one hell of a party foul last week.” 

Seungmin laughs too, and even though it isn’t that funny it sounds genuine. In that moment, he kind of knows. Because it’s one thing to mistake the illicit thrill of a body shot as mutual attraction, and it’s another thing to actually find a stupid joke funny. 

If Changbin hadn’t disappeared twenty minutes ago with the promise that the entire house was going to know better than play  _ Old Town Road  _ over the PA system, he’d scoff and tell him that it wasn’t that deep. He’d tell Chan that he’s just thinking with his dick. He’d tell him that his type is anyone that calls his bluff. Changbin would tell him that he’s a fool for a well dressed man, and that he was screwed the minute he walked in with the Armani Exchange pullover, even if there’s wine spilled down the sleeve. 

But it’s more than that. Has to be. He’s Chan’s type, which means he’s Changbin’s type too. He’s almost certain that Changbin would like. Changbin’s a sucker for the Valley Girl aesthetic. Mall punk meets prep and the rest is history. Which is which? Well, he’s not really figured that out yet. 

But when you open with a body shot, Chan supposes that what comes next isn’t really that much of a leap upward. 

Except that it’s clear that the guy’s confidence is spent, and it’s not made any better by sucking on a lime. “Ah, stop eating that. You look miserable.” 

“It’s better than the liquor,” he says with a grimace. 

Chaos has erupted around them. 

From Felix, “wait, I’m completely sober, I need another shot.” 

From Han, “Alright, I’m taking bets right now.” 

But it feels like the house is empty. “I can make you a real drink. What do you like?” 

“Um,” his face burns hot red, like it's just dawned on him that what he’s done is very out of line with the designer sweater, liberal arts, yacht party, good boy image that he’s spent years cultivating. Like it’s just dawned on him that what he’s done is very in line with wine stains, and house parties, and art school rejects. Like he’s afraid that it’s too late to ask for a mimosa or a sangria now that he’s downed a shot of well tequila. 

“Bartender’s choice?” And if that’s not convincing, “trust me.” 

“Okay.” 

“What’s your name,” asked as he finds ice, squeezes the rest of the discarded lime half into a tumbler glass. 

“Seungmin.” Seungmin is very cute. 

“This is Chan,” Han cuts in. 

“I’m Chan.” Discarded between several bottles of liquor he finds the bar jigger and measures out a generous, but not overpowering portion of gin. There’s an open liter of seltzer on the counter, in it goes. Then he scans the accoutrements. Olives. No. Lemon. No. Maraschino cherries. Yes. He dumps no less than four or five cherries and a whole lot of cherry juice into the cocktail. “Wanna get out of here? Maybe go talk or something?” 

* * *

Nothing like a trip to the suburbs to lull you into a false sense of serenity. With the strip neon lights miles away, Seungmin can see the stars in the inky night sky. 

They sit, not on the numerous patio chairs, but on the edge of the back porch itself. Without a show to put on, without a bluff to call, Chan becomes more human to him as he looks up at that same sky and brilliant waxing moon. His posture is relaxed, reclining backward and supporting his weight on his hands. He seems at a loss for words, like he too can be awkward. Chan for a moment, has the potential to be something more than the hottest guy he’s ever seen. 

In that awkwardness, Seungmin takes refuge in looking out at the yard, which is no less immaculate or strange than the house. A stone pathway leads out into the grass to an arched trellis, which acts as a mythical gate or sacred portal between the house and the garden. 

Almost pastoral, a ceremonial circle of concrete lawn geese, some of them headless, carve out a brilliant sigil in the grass. Each one dressed in immaculate gingham frocks. 

“Do you know how much money these people must have to have this much grass in the desert?” 

“Grass?” Chan laughs again, and he’d do anything to chase that sound. “I know the person who owns this house. I’m going to tell him that out of all of this, the thing that impressed you was the grass.” 

Dry air brushes against his skin and makes him feel parched. Luckily, Chan made him a drink. So he sips it in long, overeager gulps until the burn of liquor makes him stop. “Wanna see something cool?” 

“Yeah,” Chan seems to take this offer as invitation. 

Seungmin isn’t sure that he minds. 

Hand on his thigh, Chan rubs delicate little circles into the denim of his jeans and it makes Seungmin’s skin pique with gooseflesh. 

“Oh god, this is dumb.” 

“Whatever it is, I’m sure it’s no more dumb than letting your best friends and really cute stranger rip body shots off your chest,” Bolder now, he swipes his thumb up the inside of his thigh. 

Fuck. 

Carefully, he plucks one of the maraschino cherries out of the glass, shows it to Chan in the faint porch light. “Here,” and he offers the cherry to chan by the stem. 

Chan first reaches for it with his fingers, and Seungmin pulls back. “Nuh-uh.” 

Understanding now, Chan lets him feed him the cherry. Then, he pops the stem into his mouth. and pops it into his mouth stem and all. Of course, he makes a big show of poking his tongue against his cheek and pursing his lips. Then, with a smile, he catches the end of the stem between his front teeth and pulls it tight. “See?” as he shows Chan the perfectly tied knot what he’s done.    


“Wow.” And then without skipping a beat, “What else can you do, Cherry?” Their position shifts again. Seungmin moves his leg, and then so does Chan. Instead of sitting with his legs over the porch edge, he now sits with them over Chan’s hips, like he’s halfway sitting in his lap. 

“What, are you gonna call me that now?” His ears burn hot, and yeah, he’s probably bright red like one right now. 

“If you let me.” 

“I don’t think I’ve ever had a nickname before.” 

“It’s cute. Like you.” Then, like he weighs nothing at all, Chan’s hefted him into his lap for real. So he sips his drink in long, overeager gulps until the burn of liquor makes him stop. 

“This okay?” 

“Yeah?” Seungmin lets out a breath that he didn’t even know that he was holding. Chan is so close he can feel the tickle of his breath on his lips and the rise and fall of his chest. What is he supposed to do? Like he knows what he’s supposed to do, but he doesn’t like  _ know  _ what he’s supposed to do when a guy is this hot and this sure of himself and this cool _.  _

“I can um,” talking is not going to get him  _ anywhere.  _ Not when Chan’s snaked a hand up under his shirt and has his palm splayed wide across the small of his back. Not when he’s grabbing his ass through his jeans. 

Wet his lips with his tongue and close his eyes, Seungmin has to act. 

“Chan?” A stranger’s voice interrupts. 

But the lip-brush soft-sting of teeth tugging at his lower lip that he anticipated so badly just never comes. 

“Ah--Sorry dude--” 

“What?” Both of them jolt in surprise and Chan scrambles to keep him steady and not drop him in the grass depths mere inches below. “Hyunjin, what the hell?” 

“What the hell yourself Chan. It’s Minho, he’s locked himself in the bathroom again with your dog. It sounds like he’s crying maybe, and we can’t find Changbin.” 

“I’ll be there in a minute.” Seungmin moves. Chan is apologetic. “I’m sorry. I really should take care of this,” and it’s sealed with a kiss on the tip of his nose. Something far less satisfying than he anticipated. 

“Please don’t go anywhere. I’ll make this fast, I promise.” 


	2. Fifty Fifty Clown

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My friend @changbinlish thought of the meet cute scenario where seungmin walks in on changbin. Go read his fic's he's awesome.

Chan said not to go anywhere, and Seungmin fully intended to listen. 

His open Safari tab, “Casual sex???????,” was proof of that. 

It’s just that he’s had a  _ lot  _ to drink tonight and it’s time to break the seal. Too bad that a house this huge doesn’t seem to have  _ one  _ vacant toilet. The half bath on the main floor is the one that Chan’s friend locked himself in. The crowd of people gathered around begging, “Minho, please,” just kind of gives it away. The other, downstairs bathroom, has a line that snakes into the hallway. Trudging upstairs, he finds that one locked too. 

A place like this  _ probably  _ has a master bedroom, and where there’s a master bed, there’s a master bath. 

For a half second Seungmin reminds himself that he  _ shouldn’t  _ do that, but inhibitions, lowered by alcohol and the pressure in his bladder, suggest otherwise. 

Neither violating social norms  _ or  _ pissing has ever felt this good before. 

Seungmin stands facing the toilet dick in hand, head resting in the crook of his elbow against the wall. A sense of relief shivers down his spine as the pressure in his bladder lessens. Oh  _ god  _ that feels amazing. 

And after pissing for what  _ seems  _ like hours, Seungmin is finally able to shake his cock and tuck it back into his briefs. Buttoning his slacks, he checks the zipper twice and fumbles for the metal latch of his belt buckle. Okay, he might be tipsy. 

Flush, and flip the seat down. Turning around abruptly, he knocks into the toilet paper holder, “ _ Ow,”  _ and everything feels wobbly. 

In the chaos, Seungmin catches sight of himself in the full length mirror. Okay, he might be drunk. His sweater is half tucked into his slacks, and not in a good, French tuck kind of way either. His whole right sleeve is stained with wine, and the color of the stain matches the complexion of his face. Cheeks flushed cherry red, he really needs to find some antacids before he finds Chan again. 

Because nothing oozes sex appeal like Asian flush. Right? 

“Get it together Kim,” as he slaps himself on the cheek. 

Seungmin jiggles the door handle, and when that doesn’t work right away presses his shoulder into it. 

Too little force followed by too much force, the door opens and he stumbles forward. 

And what exists on the other side of that door is simultaneously sexier and more surreal than the sight of someone taking a body shot from Chan’s belly button. 

There’s a man bracing himself on the frame of the four post bed. The collar of his sweater caught between his teeth and his lower lip, he lifts the lower hem of his sweater high, exposing a smooth, kissable stomach. He faces Seungmin’s direction, but does not startle at the door being thrown open. Sultry brown eyes remain trained on the screen of his phone, but Seungmin can see his expression morph from half lidded and seductive to a furrowed brow scowl. 

Oh yeah, and he’s not wearing pants. 

The camera app on his phone makes a satisfying, electronic shutter sound. Only then does he put his phone down onto the bed. 

“You know, There are four bathrooms in this house. How the hell did you end up in the one attached to  _ my  _ bedroom?” 

It’s an ominous warning to which Seungmin pays no heed. Instead, his eyes wander downward. Through the stranger’s soft looking briefs, the bulge of his cock  _ perfectly outlined.  _

That’s really as far as he gets before shame finally kicks in alongside the effects of alcohol and natural curiosity, and his eyes dart to the white carpet in the bedroom. 

Although the flush of shame is hot upon his face, alcohol impedes the natural conclusion to this horrific scenario. It would be  _ so easy _ and make  _ so much sense _ to brush past him, stammer sorry, slam the door shut, and then  _ drag  _ Wonpil out of the party and into the first Uber they can summon to the suburbs.

But he’s inflated by false confidence. A dangerous and perfect storm summoned only through alcohol, and the rush of Chan’s affection, and the fact that he’s probably never gonna see this guy again in his entire life. 

It’s only made worse by this guy’s attitude. Seungmin made so much noise, he had plenty of time to at least pull up his pants. 

“It’s fate,” Seungmin smiles drunkenly. “You clearly need a photographer.” God his face feels like it’s on fire right now. “I mean, the lighting in here sucks. And--What kind of phone are you using?”

The stranger fires back, palming his dick through his briefs, “What does it matter if the composition’s just fine?” 

* * *

Slowly, deliberately, Changbin rises from the bed, enters the bathroom and reaches into one of the many organizer boxes that surround the sink and from it extracts a bottle of Zantac. Not once does his gaze break with the intruder’s, because he’s got this weird kind of psycho-killer lost puppy dog vibe going on. That includes looking at him through the bathroom mirror as he rifles around through the medicine. 

Turns out that’s easier than looking at him directly. 

One time he and Chan drove like three hours north, deep into the desert to watch a solar eclipse. It’s like that now. Like this guy’s the sun, and looking back at him directly is just going to melt his eyes. 

Of all the drunk people that have barged into his room during a party, this guy has got to be the worst. No slurred and apologetic "shit dude I'm sorry." No stuttered, "sorry man I was just taking a piss." Yes, he’s worse even than that guy Chan found rummaging through their shit, Changbin's best Dior in hand.

Cause at least that guy had the shame to tuck his tail between his legs and run. This fucking guy though. 

“My boyfriend gets really red when he drinks, so he quit. But when he did these used to help.” He says shaking the bottle of antacids at the stranger. “Take this. You’ll look less like a stupid drunk cherry.” He says in response to the crimson color of his skin, 

“You’re the one wearing peach emoji underwear.” 

Boldly, the boy approaches him to take the bottle of Zantac. Standing so closely, Changbin can feel the pull that only happens when two people, who are hell bent on making a bad decision, get near enough one another. “Yet, you’re the one whose cheeky.” 

Unscrewing the bottle cap, he places two pills upon his tongue. 

Changbin supplies the open bottle of Champagne Changbin had brought upstairs with him, and kept on the dresser so he can wash down the medication. 

“You should let me take pictures of you. So they’re better.” 

"You want me to just let a stranger, who barged into my room, to let you take my nudes? You’re the most compelling reason I’ve ever had to build a panic room.” 

“I mean uh,” alcohol flush has nothing to do with it, his face is still crimson red. Sudden and unstoppable, like he just remembered shame. “Just like, if you want. I can help you get a better angle--uh.” Remembered shame, but didn’t realize or accept that leaving was an option. 

Changbin may not even know his name, but he’s got him figured out. He wields the same kind of dangerous mixture of hot guy swagger and loser fluster that varies within the same breath. It’s the exact kind of thing that made him fall for Chan. 

Perfect. 

Changbin wraps his fingers around the green glass neck of the bottle and takes a pull of champagne. There’s absolutely nothing that tastes better than room temperature Taittinger Collection. Then, he pivots so that he fully faces the other boy once more. 

“What’s your name?” 

“Seungmin.” 

“Seungmin, you’re lucky. My boyfriend is ignoring me tonight.” 

* * *

The bedroom is so different from the rest of the house. Almost normal. Cream colored carpet, and sensible heather gray duvet are caged in by dark wood end tables and dresser. Upon the top of the dresser are peeled bits of gold foil from the top of the champagne bottle. There’s a hoodie draped over the chair of the desk. A box filled with earrings was left out on the wooden surface of the desk next to a discarded silk tie. 

There are photos on top of the dresser, their subject matter is concealed by the dimness of the room and for that Seungmin is glad. Because this room feels far more intimate than he’s comfortable with. 

As if everything else in the house were a front, and this was the true face of those who lived here. 

As if he weren’t supposed to see. 

“You know the Snapchat app on Android is especially really bad right?” But dutifully, Seungmin snaps a photo of Changbin, and shows him the screen for his immediate approval or disapproval. 

“Take another one then.” 

“Like making apps is hard. So instead of making a whole new app different from IOS they just made it where Snapchat takes and sends a screenshot of the camera feed, not an actual, proper photo. That’s why it’s trash.” 

“Fascinating.” Changbin’s bored expression pairs so well with the image of his hand near, but definitely not  _ touching  _ his dick as he sits on the edge of the biggest bed that Seungmin has ever seen. With one hand he skims the soft skin of his inner thigh, or lazily palming his dick just enough to keep it precariously half hard. With the other hand, he takes long drinks of champagne. And the whole thing is crazy and sexy and cool beyond anything Seungmin’s ever dreamed of. “Seungmin, you must be really fun at parties--Oh wait.” 

Changbin arches a single brow at him cockily, but his body betrays him. He’s blush red, like he needs medicine too. Like blushes are communicable, and Seungmin gave his to Changbin like the common cold. 

Although his body still feels warm, his cheeks aren’t burning. Electric warmth, confidence, courses through his veins and makes him feel like he can do anything. 

For Changbin however, the blush starts across his cheeks, and moves up towards his ears. Seungmin has to wonder if it exists elsewhere too, like on his chest and across his collar bones. Has a feeling that maybe, just maybe he’ll get to see. Maybe he’ll get to push back the black, long sleeve shirt that Changbin raises and lowers on a teasing whim and fully see that rose colored blush dust across his chest in-between his nipples. 

Should it bother him? 

Should it bother him that Changbin has a boyfriend? At best he’s getting used, and at the very worst he’s doing something that might break up someone else’s relationship? And isn’t that supposed to be the very worst thing ever that a person could do? 

On the other hand, who the hell is cold enough, detached enough to just  _ ignore  _ someone like Changbin? If he were his, he’d never let him out of his sight. 

“Android cameras just suck anyway. Let me use mine, it’s so much better.” Seungmin’s totally being  _ that guy  _ right now. Ok Seungmin has always been  _ that guy  _ and not just about cameras. He had a laminated binder for his Pokemon cards, and he always kept the box to his Christmas toys. 

“Let me use my camera.” Because he’s been taking pictures of Changbin for what feels like forever now, and he’s aching hard. “I mean it’s not as good as my point and shoot but still.” 

In a way that doesn’t help his case at all, he punctuates this statement by grinding his flat palm unashamedly against his clothed cock, desperate for any bit of relief. 

That’s just it...Will Changbin want to? Or would Changbin’s rejection, be some sort of cosmic punishment for leaving Chan in a similar situation? 

“How do I know you’re not just gonna keep them for yourself? Send them to all your dirty little friends? I don’t want my pictures just out there on the internet” Plush pink lips wrap around the opening of the bottle of champagne and it makes Seungmin feel absolutely unhinged. 

“You’re really lucky that you’re cute.” Changbin fists his shirt into his hands hiking fabric upward and exposing more muscle. His body is different than Chan’s. The muscles aren’t so pronounced, but so obviously there underneath smooth skin. He cannot help but stare, and compare the two. 

Changbin’s actions are as good as a yes. So, he adjusts his camera to account for the dim light of the bedroom, and takes one shot with shaky hands, and then another. 

Changbin fists his shirt, lifting it higher and higher.  _ Flash snap Flash snap  _ but he never takes it off. His underwear however, is pulled down his legs slowly, revealing a thick cock that looks just as aching hard as his feels. Strange, to feel like a voyeur when they’re the only two in the room, and Changbin very much so knows that he’s watching. And is it wrong? Is it wrong to feel tired of palming himself erratically through his shorts while he sets up shot after shot after shot,  _ hypothetically  _ meant for someone else? 

Nah, enough of this. “Why don’t you c’mere.” The bottle, resting precariously on the bed at the midpoint between them, is snatched up easily. His phone, surrendered to the foot of the bed just as easily. Seungmin takes a long swig of champagne. When Changbin doesn’t come right away, “Changbin, please.” 

Changbin scoots toward him on his butt in a way that’s much more cute than sexy. His cock bobs with each movement as he scoots along the bed. When he’s near, Changbin wraps his arms around his chest and his legs around his hips caging him in completely. 

“You know what would make my boyfriend really jealous?” 

“What?” His voice sounds cracked and dry, like he’s been shouting all night. 

“You.” 

Oh hell yes. 

Changbin tugs at his shirt, pulling him down, down, down onto the bed. Ruts his cock against his thigh and  _ oh god.  _ This is worse than the time he stayed up all night making a formula sheet for his calculus exam only to forget his calculator. He wants to so badly. Hypothetically, he knows exactly what to do. Realistically? What the hell is he doing? Where do his hands go? 

Seungmin opts for where he’s wanted them to be from the very start, the firm flesh of Changbin’s ass. 

He knows what happens next of course. Changbin’s eyes are closed, and his lips shine with spit and champagne. Seungmin closes his eyes too, and he can feel the heat of Changbin’s breath. 

In that moment, when he’s so, so close to kissing Changbin, they’re interrupted by the clinking sound of the doorknob. Swear to god, he must have done something really awful in a past life for this to happen  _ twice  _ in one night. 

Seungmin scrambles to pull away from Changbin at the sound of intrusion. Changbin doubles down, holding onto his shirt with an iron grip. 

A familiar voice identifies him  _ before  _ Seungmin can see him in the faint light of the room, “Changbin where have you been?” It’s Chan. Absolutely, 100%. “I’ve been looking all over for you I wanted--” 

With Seungmin still on top of him, Changbin smiles wide at Chan. “I’ve been right here babe.” 

Oh no. 

* * *

“Oh, I see you found what I wanted to show you.” Chan says as he climbs into the bed with him and Changbin. “Hey Seungmin.” 

“Hey.” What the hell? 

“What you wanted to show me?” Changbin’s voice sounds like he’s on the cusp of bursting into laughter. “Seungmin is mine Chan.” He reinforces this point by grinding up into Seungmin’s thigh. “I wanted to share him with you, but you weren’t responding to my messages.” 

What the double hell? 

“Because I was minding  _ your  _ house party and, then I went looking for him.” And then quickly to Seungmin he adds, “We don’t mean to talk around you it’s just my boyf--.” 

“What did you do with my Channie?” Changbin’s voice is rough, dark, and almost threatening. He shifts their position on the bed, so that Seungmin is still nearby, but Changbin can more easily tease Chan. Sudden, and unashamed, Changbin teases the lobe of Chan’s ear, playing with his earrings with his lower lip and teeth. 

“I uh--” Oh god. This is weird. Weird, like when your friend tries to get you to buy into their multi-level-marketing scheme. That is to say, it’s extremely uncomfortable. Weird, like licking a battery, illicit and something that he wants more of, even if he knows that it’s stupid. “I took a body shot.” 

“Yeah?” Changbin turns his attention back to him. This time, he touches Seungmin’s cock, through his jeans. “He’s got a really good body huh?” 

“Yeah-ah.” 

“What else?” 

“He showed me something really cool,” Chan interjects. For a moment, Changbin’s attention waivers. A sharp and broken sound shatters between them, and it takes him a moment to realize that it’s Changbin making it. When he looks downward, he sees that Chan’s hand has found its way around Changbin’s cock. With the pad of his thumb, he smears pre-cum across the head of Changbin’s cock. “He can tie a knot with a cherry stem.” 

“That’s really sexy. What else?” Changbin’s words sound slurred. Like he’s been brought infinitely closer to climax just due to the simple fact that Chan is here and touching him. 

“He sat in my lap.” 

“Yeah what else?” 

“I grabbed his ass. Then, I was interrupted. Then you stole him away from me.” 

In that moment, Seungmin becomes aware, that its very much,  _ not  _ about him. Chan’s all but stolen Changbin away from him. He’d feel self conscious. He’d  _ leave  _ if it weren’t the sexiest thing ever. 

“What did you do with him?” 

“Just took pictures,” Seungmin responds. 

"We were interrupted too you know,"Changbin insists. 

Then, Seungmin watches with wide, envious eyes as Chan cups Changbin’s chin between his thumb and forefinger and slots his lips over Changbin’s. Their misaligned lips make a heavy, smacking noise. Realign, and they try once more. Seungmin swears that he can see the soft pink slip of tongue between them, and he doesn’t know who he’s more envious of. Would he rather kiss like that? Or be kissed like that? 

Maybe he won’t have to choose. 

“Chan, that’s not being very nice. Kissing me like that in front of Seungmin. I haven’t even gotten to give him one yet.” 

“Me neither.” 

Carefully, coyly, Changbin asks, “do you want us to kiss you?” 

If the intensity of one of them looking at him makes him feel stifled, then the pressure of both threatens to flatten him. If watching them kiss one another made his dick twitch in his pants, then he fears what ever they’ve silently planned to do next. 

“Yeah. God yeah.” 

“Close your eyes Seungmin.” 

They could ask him to do all sorts of horrible things right now. They could ask him to sneeze without covering his mouth, or order them coffee without saying please and thank you. He’d absolutely do it. 

He can feel the weight shift upon the bed as they readjust positions around him. A hand covers his eyes, but even in darkness, even though he barely knows them, he can tell. The hand is soft. Legs cage either side of him, so that he’s almost in Seungmin’s lap. Warm bare skin, and in sharp contrast, a rough and demanding touch. He’s pulled forward by the front of his shirt. Their noses bump. The kiss itself is hard, to the point of being bruising. His partner demands more access almost right away, slipping his tongue inside. Seungmin returns the kiss, his fingers finding their way around a slim waist. Pushes back with his tongue and whimpers ever so softly when sharp teeth close in around the fullness of his lower lip and bite down. 

The dark chuckle that follows it is all but confirmation, it’s Changbin he’s just kissed. 

Readjust slightly upon the bed, and another hand covers his eyes. 

“Don’t look,” Changbin insists. 

“I won’t,” Seungmin reassures. 

The next kiss acts as a salve to the prior kisses roughness. He pushes Seungmin back down upon the comforter. His body is solid, but not heavy on top of him. Where Changbin kissed him urgently, Chan kisses him as if he simply wishes to observe. Chan wants to note the feeling of his lips pressed against Seungmin’s, which undoubtedly taste of maraschino cherries and champagne. Trace the line of his lips, and slip his tongue inside. Sigh into the kiss and feel Seungmin’s body sway against him when he does. 

It must be so obvious that Seungmin hasn’t kissed much, and has certainly never been kissed like this before. When it’s time for the kiss to end, they part, but only briefly. Chan places another kiss upon his lips, this one shorter, and reassuring. 

In that moment he’s reminded of the small, tender kiss to his nose, and the way that he kissed Changbin in a similar way. 

“Which was which?” Changbin asks with an impish playfulness. 

“Oh, it was just so difficult.” He teases. “You first. Then Chan.” 

“You’re just lucky.” 

The next kisses aren’t so structured. Less egalitarian in nature, they happen chaotically. He’ll kiss Changbin, only to have Chan interrupt, stealing a kiss from him, rough and demanding. So he’ll kiss Chan for a time while Changbin latches onto his neck and leaves a harsh archipelago of bruises against his skin. Then, as soon as it becomes comfortable, everything will shift again. Changbin tugging at his shirt, and Chan playing with his nipples. 

Changbin feeds him more champagne before he kills the bottle himself. 

All of it is going far, far too well. 

The universe herself just couldn’t let him make up for lost time and fuck two increadibly hot guys. 

It’s not fair! But suddenly his stomach feels heavy and bloated. The world slows down, and everything feels heavy: hands, and head, and the pit of his stomach. The glowing feeling that had encompassed his body is replaced by a sickly clamminess. 

“Hey, are you okay?” Chan asks him. 

At that, as if on cue, Changbin pulls off of his skin with a sticky  _ pop.  _ “Seungmin? Oh Chan, I recognize that look.” 

“Hey--Seungmin?” 

But there’s no time to respond. Urgently, and with his pants partially unzipped, Seungmin tears himself away from Changbin and Chan and flees towards the bathroom. 

Doesn’t have the chance to slam the door shut behind him. So when he just barely makes it, they have to listen to him full body retch as he vomits unceremoniously into the toilet. 

* * *

“Oh my god I’m so sorry.” 

“It’s alright.” Chan responds, rubbing his hand down Seungmin’s back. 

“No it isn’t--” he insists, slurring his words, not only in drunkenness but also because he’s  _ sobbing  _ in embarrassment. The sob triggers something in his gut, and Seungmin retches again, loud and bodily.

“You probably don’t drink that much huh?” Who knows how much he had  _ before  _ Chan made him a drink. Add whatever of Changbin’s champagne that he had, and yeah, he was probably pretty drunk, which means they’re quite unobservant _.  _

It’s just that, he didn’t  _ seem  _ drunk. But now, he’s got to wonder if he didn’t watch closely enough, if he didn’t notice slight hitches in speech. Did he mistake stutters as signs of arousal when they really indicated a different kind of intoxication? 

But hindsight is 20/20 and all they can do is take care of the boy crouched over their toilet. 

Changbin re-enters the room. “I found crackers. Water. Ginger ale too, but not much of it. I think Jamie was having whiskey gingers. So if she asks what happened to her stuff I’ll just say you took it.” 

Chan waves his hand dismissively. That’s the absolute least of their problems right now. 

“You didn’t tell my brother did you?” 

“Don’t worry. I couldn’t even  _ find  _ him.” 

“Good.” Seungmin sniffles pathetically. “I’m so stupid. All I wanted to do was be a little less lame you know?” He pulls his head up from the toilet bowl, and weirdly rests his head upon his arm upon the seat. 

For whatever reason, he finds  _ that  _ particular action a thousand times more off-putting than the sound of Seungmin spilling his guts. “You done?” 

“I think so.” 

“Ohkay, why don’t you go lay down then.” And he tugs Seungmin’s arms upward. Changbin moves into help, cupping his side. Between them, Seungmin goes full rag doll. 

“God I suck.” 

“No you don’t.” 

“I wanted to be cool, and then I wanted to fool around with these two  _ stupidly _ ,” Seungmin slurs his words. “Hot guys, and I ruined it. Because  _ I’m lame.”  _

There are times when Changbin’s words are so soft that they’re meaningless. There are other times that they are so barbed that they hurt, like shards of glass embedded into thin skin. However, there are other times, frequent but treasured, Changbin knows exactly what to say. Truthful, firm, and loving. “Oh come on. We wouldn’t wanna fuck around if we thought you were lame.” Changbin pulls back the covers of their bed and then climbs in next to Seungmin. “Drink some ginger ale? Water maybe?” And then, “it happens to everyone now and again. You know. Too much of a good thing.” 

“You probably think I’m so ugly right now.” 

Chan interjects, “please drink some water Seungmin. We think you’re so handsome.” 

Changbin tears open the package of saltines he found at the back of the cupboard. “Cool too.” 

* * *

Seungmin wakes to a dry mouth, bad breath, pounding headache, and the sound of his brother’s voice. “What the hell happened?” 

“Had a little too much I’m afraid,” Chan responds. 

Oh god. 

“Well what’s he doing in your bed then?” 

Seungmin doesn’t know how long he’s been laying here, but the memories come flooding back. Changbin. Chan. Fooling around with both and then vomiting violently in their bathroom. 

He’d really like to die right now. The uncertainty of whether or not he’s been laying there for one hour or five, only intensifies the feeling.

Like, if there’s a god, or a higher power, or whatever, if they could just take him out. Right now. 

He counts to three, waiting for the sweet and merciful release of death. When it doesn’t come, he opens his eyes fully. He’s greeted with the sight of Changbin sitting in bed next to him, watching him with an unwavering, scrutinous gaze. “Hey.” 

Seungmin doesn’t respond. 

“Chan’s gonna give you a ride back to where you’re staying okay?” Changbin speaks so softly that he can barely hear. “Your shirt is disgusting, so we’re gonna get it cleaned for you. We tried to dress you in something else but it wasn’t working well. You’re heavy as hell when you’re completely passed the fuck out. Button your shirt and your pants before you get out of the covers. Your brother is here and kind of pissed off.” 

“Okay,” Seungmin responds with a whisper. Fumbling, alcohol laden fingers struggle to do so, but he manages to get three or four buttons done before he tumbles out of bed. 

“Seungmin?” 

Seungmin looks at Changbin now, and it’s something that he’s really, really not supposed to see. It’s something private, intimate, something that only Chan gets. He’s wearing an old t-shirt, maybe his pajamas. A pair of gold rimmed glasses rest on the bridge of his nose. “If you didn’t taste disgusting right now, I’d probably kiss you.” 

Is this the universe’s way of telling him to stay in his lane? That the minute he tries to be something he’s not, he’s going to get smacked back down? Drunk and defeated, Seungmin’s heat is gone and all that’s left is something tepid and unpleasant. He looks away from Changbin and doesn’t even respond. 

“How bout this?” Changbin kisses his fingers between the tip and the knuckle, and then presses his fingers to Seungmin’s lips. “Take care, Cherry.” 


	3. Heaven or Las Vegas

His mouth is drier than the Thanksgiving turkey his mother insists on preparing every year. This is  _ undoubtedly  _ due in part to his voracious alcohol consumption last night, the fact that he refused Changbin as he begged him to drink water, and sleeping with his mouth open. Getting up for water is easier said than done. His whole body feels like the time he decided he was going to try out for lacrosse back in high school. That is to say, he feels like he ripped open the suite window, jumped out, and fell twenty or more stories onto the concrete. 

Seungmin will use this time of whole body paralysis to think of every synonym he knows for thirst.

Dehydrated

Unquenched 

Parched

Dessicate 

Exsiccate

Hm. His fuzzy, liquor addled mind cannot think of anything else. So, he has no other choice other than to get up and get some water. Seungmin wills himself upright, and this presents a whole new set of problems. At some point in the night, his brain was replaced by pebbles, and those pebbles settled into the back of his skull. Sitting up made them all rattle around against the sides of his head and  _ wow that’s painful.  _

It also turns out that someone, probably Wonpil, got him a glass of water at some point during the night. He finds this out of course, when he waves his arm wildly to rub his temples _ ,  _ and knocks it off the nightstand onto the carpet. “Seriously?” 

Seungmin throws himself back down onto the mattress. He’s just gonna give up and die like this. 

From the bathroom, there’s the squeaky sound of the faucet turning off. His first thought was to pretend that he was still asleep so he could avoid seeing his family for just a little longer, but Wonpil walks into the bedroom before he could bury his face back into the pillows. 

“Morning Seungshine.” Wonpil grins at him like he’s been saving  _ this  _ expression for the right moment for a very long time. 

He could say a lot of things right now. Like, “fuck off” or, “I’m sorry.” Instead, he just opts for a pathetic whine. 

“Mom and dad went down to brunch already. And don’t worry. Last night when we stumbled in, if you don’t remember, mom asked if you were drunk and I said no, so she has no idea at all,” sarcasm tinges his voice.

The memories are all flooding back to him now, especially the part where he ripped open the door to his parents’ room in the suite and started bitching about the wifi at three or four in the morning. 

Seungmin responds with  _ another  _ distressed whine. “I would like to die please.” 

“Now Seungmin,” the bed dips as Wonpil sits on the edge. “Don’t do that. At least.” God he hates it so much when he talks to him like this. Like he knows something that Seungmin doesn’t. “Not before you tell me what you were doing in Changbin and Chan’s room.” 

“Nothing,” his raised voice makes his head hurt  _ more.  _

“You’re not wearing your own clothes.” 

“I vomited on them,” Seungmin keeps his voice raised despite the pain. Shame floods back and--“I mean--” Seungmin, having sunk already down into the bed, covers his head with the comforter now. “God.” 

“This is what I like to hear from Fordham Prep’s valedictorian.” Wonpil laughs. “Get up, we can get something to eat.” 

Seungmin has never felt more ravenous. The problem is, he still feels nauseous. 

Seungmin takes care of his immediate needs. Downs a glass of water, brushes his teeth to wash the acrid tang of vomit out of his mouth, and then hauls himself promptly back to bed, where he finds his charger, and plugs in his dying phone. 

“That doesn’t look like getting ready.” 

Seungmin waves his hand at Wonpil dismissively. 

“If you’re going to take forever, I’m gonna go get coffee. Do you want anything?” 

“Oh my god, can you get me like a Coke?” 

“Sure.” Wonpil bounds out of their shared room and into the common area of the suite. 

Only then does Seungmin bother to look at his phone. There’s a missed call from Wonpil, three from his mother, and a text from Wonpil that is riddled with typos. He  _ thinks  _ it’s supposed to read, “ _ Chan is cuffed?”  _ Cuffed, as in seeing someone. Changbin. Who he also fooled around with. 

_ More  _ memories of last night flood back.  _ The photos.  _ Seungmin checks his camera roll, and there, in various states of clarity, are shots of Changbin. Changbin licking his lips and rubbing his dick through his underwear. Changbin kneeling on the bed, the tip of his cock peeking out the elastic white waistband. A blurred shot of Changbin, probably in a similar position. A shot of the duvet, and a photoburst of over fifty photos of what appears to be Seungmin dropping his phone onto the carpet. 

_ Messy _ . 

But the ones that are in focus are good are  _ very, very  _ good. And of course with all that great composition and lighting, it’s only a matter of time before he’s sporting a half-chub. 

As if on cue, a banner notification flashes over the top portion of his screen. It’s from an unsaved number, but he kind of already knows. 

The chatlog is short. Just a few of the photos he took of Changbin and the message he just got. He can only assume that Changbin text Chan from his own phone, and that he speaks to Chan now. 

“How are you feeling?”  _ 11:45 _

“Kind of bad actually.”  _ 11:45 _

“You know what would make you feel better?”  _ 11:46 _

The floating gray typing bubbles crawl across the screen. 

“This.”  _ 11:48  _

Surprise surprise, It’s a picture of a dick, clothed by bright red Calvin Klein underwear. The outline against crimson red fabric is quite clear, and juxtaposed nicely with a darkened patch of damp pre-cum against the fabric. 

Soon, there’s another picture, moments later. Somehow, it’s even more obscene. Chan’s cock, freed from the briefs, is enveloped by Changbin’s mouth. 

“He’s really upset he couldn’t do this for you last night.”  _ 11:49 _

He honestly kind of thought that having a hangover was the worst feeling in the world, but it’s not. Heat surges just below his stomach and pools in his crotch quickly. Hotter than anything he’s ever seen online because it’s real. He knows how soft Changbin’s lips are. Has felt Chan’s length pressed against his thigh. 

No, the feeling of having a killer hangover, plus being wildly, unfathomably horny at the time time is unequivocally worse. 

Seungmin gives his cock a few pitiful touches through his underwear before giving up and buying his face back into the pillow. He is  _ never  _ drinking again. Ever. 

Seungmin stays like that for a moment, stuck in painful horny purgatory. When he picks up his phone again there’s a few more messages. 

“Don’t like?”  _ 11:52 _

"No, I like it very, very much."  _ 11:53 _

Even if hes so embarrassed that he wants to die. 

"I just hurt too much to be properly horny."  _ 11:54  _

"Poor baby."  _ 11:54  _

Another message comes in, this time from a different number. He's in a group chat now with Chan and who he can only assume is Changbin. 

"Let’s try everything again. We’re going to a show tonight out in the desert. Some real Burning Man shit, if Burning Man didn’t suck. So sleep it off, and bring that nice camera you told me so much about. We’ll pick you up at 10. "  _ 11:59  _

Seungmin could question why the hell they still want anything to do with him after all that. He could take the safe road. Go back to his usual, overly cautious ways, and forget that last night ever happened. 

Until he’s interrupted by Wonpil, who has decided to text him from downstairs. 

“Is it too soon to invite you to another party tonight? Because my friend’s just invited me to this thing out in the desert. Since I’ve corrupted you, I got us a ride.”  _ 12:00 _

First Seungmin types out a response to Changbin and Chan. 

"I’ll be ready for you.”  _ 12:01 _

Only then does he respond to his brother’s message. 

“I mean. I want to go, but I kind of already have a ride there.”  _ 12:01  _

“With Changbin and Chan?””  _ 12:02 _

“I am both disgusted and amazed at my little brother.”  _ 12:02 _

* * *

Changbin tells him over text that, “Chan’s car is bright red, like a cherry,” but seemingly omits some important details...Like the fact that it’s the kind of thing ripped from a 1970s coming of age movie. 

Seungmin sees the bright red muscle car, which gleams in the neon light outside of the hotel, parked in the valet lane. Chan pops out of the window. Now, where a wave, or a craned neck out the window would suffice, Chan somehow manages to hoist most of his upper body out of the car. Bracing himself on the door, with one hand, he waves at Seungmin with the other, “Seungmin!” His balance falters slightly, and through the windshield, he can see Changbin pulling him back into the car so that he doesn’t fall face first into the pavement. 

Seungmin jogs the rest of the way to the car. Changbin steps out, and holds the passenger side door open for him, “sorry, you have to ride bitch.”

It’s then that Seungmin notices that the backseat is filled with music equipment. Changbin’s gesture isn’t one of chivalry, it’s one of necessity. Making him ride in the middle, despite having long legs...Well that’s just mean. 

“Hey.” Chan greets him with a bright, but sheepish grin. 

“Hey.” 

“How are you feeling?” 

“Alright. I had a nap, and uh a giant cheese burger. That made me feel better.” 

“Good.” 

Seungmin slides into the passenger’s seat next to him. Immediately he makes the crowded front seat even more claustrophobic, linking this arm around Seungmin’s and threading their fingers together. “You have to promise me something okay?” 

“Maybe.” Seungmin stares him down, looks for cracks in his expression but there are none. 

“Just listen. Don’t worry about last night, okay? Mostly because you have good aim.” Changbin demands to clear the air by setting another, larger fire. 

“Oh my god--” 

“Can you promise us that?” Chan talks over the steady, knocking metronome sound of the turn signal. Carefully, he watches for a gap in traffic so that he can turn left. 

The enamored, yet caged feeling that he got whenever he was alone with Changbin and Chan comes back full force. “Yeah. Yeah I promise.” 

Last night, it made his heart pound in his chest, but it was always followed by molten touches that felt so good that the fear was pushed away. 

Now, his palms feel slick with sweat. After all, what would could he offer that they truly, honestly want? After all, it seems that they’re constantly one step ahead. Two bodies, two distinct personalities, but a very unified mind. 

“Good. Cause we like you Seungmin.” Changbin runs his fingers through the short strands of hair near the shell of his ear. “We think you’re special.” 

When he’s done toying with his hair, Changbin stretches his arms over his shoulder so that he can touch Chan. He mirrors these feather light touches on his neck and his shoulder. 

Chan drives slowly through the strip, past the pink and red of the Flamingo, gaudy columns of Caesar’s palace, and the elegant green and black of the MGM Grand. Light catches his face, illuminates his contemplative expression, and lets it go again just as quickly as they drive past. Changbin’s however, on the other side, is darkened. The constant in his expression is an uncertain half smile as he watches both him and Chan with fascination and hunger. 

“Pretty right?” Chan asks as the strip finally ends and Chan turns onto the interstate. 

“Yeah,” Seungmin responds. “I always thought that it would look different. Like in the movies. There’s all these old, kind of kitschy neon signs. Like um, there’s that cowboy sign you always see.” 

“That’s in the older part of town” Changbin informs him. “Like a couple miles away. And you can’t even see it against the sky anymore. It’s all closed in now.” 

“Oh, it always seems like it’s all right next to each other. On TV and stuff.” 

“Yeah.” Chan admits, his hand leaves Seungmin’s knee, but only for a moment as he shifts gears. When the warm touch returns, Chan’s hand rests now on his thigh. “This place is full of things like that.” 

“Things like what?” 

“Lies by omission.” 

* * *

The sun has gone down, but in disjointed strobe lights, Changbin can see the way that they catch suspicious glares. Hypothetically of course, he understands why that may be the case. Changbin recognizes a guy that he and Chan met in Arizona back in the spring, and when he approaches him to say hello, the first question they get is, “you a cop?” to Seungmin and then directed at him, “you not with Chan anymore?” 

Changbin quickly answers no to both and squeezes down hard on Seungmin’s hand. 

Ever since they stepped out of the car, it feels like Seungmin is constantly about a half second away from bolting from him and Chan at any moment. 

“What did he mean by that?” Seungmin yells up over the music. 

Seungmin’s looking particularly dandy tonight. Although, he’s still not certain why Seungmin believes that deep burgundy ribbed knitwear with “Harvard” embroidered across the chest is somehow rave appropriate attire, but he absolutely loves it nevertheless. 

“I mean, first of all, if I were law enforcement, I’d make more effort to blend in. That’s obvious. Like that guy.” Seungmin points to a white guy with dreadlocks wearing a yin and yang crop top that pulses in the blue green strobe light. 

“You would look like that guy? God what I would give. Well, if I were doing it, I’d show up in a full black suit and tie. Like Men In Black. People would just be afraid of me and hand over their shit.” 

“I’d just laugh at you.” 

“Really? You’re pitting out your cardigan because there’s a bunch of rave kids happen to be undulating around you.” 

“It’s not a cardigan!” 

After laughing together at Seungmin’s expense, he seems to loosen up, ever so slightly. His iron grip around Changbin’s hand relents and blood is able to finally flow back into his hand. 

At some point, Seungmin extracts the point and shoot camera from the little brown leather bag he’s had thrown over his side and had clasped shut since they picked him up. With a certain kind of charm that only Seungmin can muster when he’s burned through all his politeness, he asks anyone and everyone if he can take photos. Girls with long, neon rainbow box braids and hula hoops, guys who spin fire on chains, and the obnoxious guys with finger lights who like to wave them in front of anyone and everyone’s face, are all captured through Seungmin’s lens. 

“This is really cool Changbin.” There was a part of him that believed that all of Seungmin’s swagger last night was false confidence, inflated only through gin, and champagne. He’s never been happier to be wrong. 

“Of course, hyung is here.” 

Soon, Changbin recognizes a familiar beat. It’s conception began just after midnight a week or two ago, Chan was in his underwear at the piano in the great room. Changbin was sitting on the floor mostly naked with a sampler. Edibles  _ were  _ involved. 

“There’s something else you should see.” Although Changbin is much smaller, he guides them toward one of several stages in the expansive space. It’s a delicate balance of pressing forward, waiting patiently, and demanding space for the two of them. 

They get close enough that that they can both see Chan. Headphones draped over his neck, his attention fully turned to the sampler in front of him. No matter how many nights spent out in the desert or in the club he spends watching Chan like this, it never gets any less sexy. 

Seungmin’s reaction is simple and apt. “Wow,” and then cheekily, “your boyfriend is really hot.” 

“Yeah.” 

There are people dancing, and there’s a lot of people who think that they’re dancing in the space in front of the hastily assembled stage. Yet somehow, Seungmin manages to weave in between them, getting them closer and snapping photos of Chan upon the stage. 

And when Seungmin finally seems to get bored of the circus that surrounds them, his attention turns back to Changbin, and Changbin alone. He can’t help but love it, more than the feeling of Seungmin’s grasp loosening around his hand, more than the sound of his laughter in his ear. “There’s one last thing I didn’t get a picture of though.” 

Seungmin swaps out his point and shoot for his phone. 

With his long arms, he’s able to get both of them into the frame at  _ just  _ the right angle. He snaps one. 

Seungmin smells really nice. It’s unconscious and automatic, when he cocks his head to the side and plants a lopsided kiss on the curve of Seungmin’s jaw right in time with the photo. 

Seungmin seems to take this as a challenge. Pulling him forward by his shirt and kissing him squarely on the mouth. He wants, so badly, to deepen the kiss. Lift up the hem of his shirt and let his hands roam across his back. Shamelessly squeeze his ass. Because that’s what he does with Chan at shows like this. 

It’s only exacerbated when he pulls back and sees equal parts hunger and curiosity in Seungmin’s expression. It’s just that, he’s not Chan, which means that he does not know what to do at all. 

* * *

“Won’t you get cold?” Seungmin asks, but places his hands in the pockets within seconds of Chan draping his leather jacket over his shoulders. 

“No, this is really warm.” Chan gestures to his black pullover. 

“I didn’t know it would get so cold out in the desert.” 

“Oh, badboy Seungmin.” Changbin tugs at the zipper and zips Seungmin up in his jacket. “So sexy.” 

“I’m under cover now,” Seungmin responds, and they both burst into laughter.

Chan’s set was short. After all, there are dozens of people who want their turn on the turn tables, from those who can barely string a beat together on FL studio, to people that have fat deals with record labels. There’s something comforting about it. Even though he fits somewhere in between these two extremes they all become equals out here in the desert. 

Chan’s set was short, but he can tell that in that time frame, something has changed between Changbin and Seungmin. They’re dynamic seemed different from the start. Where Seungmin looks to Chan with wide lost eyes for guidance, with Changbin they’re playful with one another to the point of being taunting. 

“Changbin and I have something cool that we want to show you.” 

“Okay.”

Changbin, as if he can sense Chan’s unease, peels himself away from Seungmin’s side and adheres himself to Chan. It’s one reason that he knows that no matter what happens with Seungmin, whether it’s inconsequential or irrevocable, that his bond with Changbin is strong enough for whatever it is that comes next. 

Changbin demands a kiss from him without so much a word. He rocks upward on the balls of his feet, nearly stumbling over into Chan, hot breath against his face. 

Chan complies, pressing misaligned lips to Changbin's mouth he finds comfort in it, the way that Changbin's tongue presses needily against the seam of his lips and the way that changbin pouts and grazes his teeth against Chan's lower lip when he doesn’t get his way. 

Only then does Chan give him what they both want. Pulling Changbin in close, he bites Changbin's lower lip until he allows him to swipe his tongue inside his mouth. 

When they part, Chan takes a half step back. But he doesn’t take his hand away from Changbin's hip. Creates a space without breaking the contact. He locks eyes with Seungmin and in that moment, its reified, they've made the right choice.

Seungmin steps into that space. His stance is wide, his smirk looks more borrowed on him than Chan's leather jacket, its something right out of Changbin's playbook. Asymmetrical and just toothy enough to look cocky, the expression crumbles quickly. 

Chan hooks his finger into Seungmin's belt loop and pulls him closer. Chan ignores the way he half steps on his toes. Opting instead to seamlessly press his mouth against Seungmin's soft lips. For a moment, he allows Seungmin to have the exploratory kiss that he so desperately needs. Making sure that yes, even when he’s dead sober, the electric spark between them still crackles and catches fire. 

Then, Chan does the same. Where Seungmin confirmed with soft swipes of his tongue, Chan confirms hungrily, needily, and doesn’t stop demanding. Breaks the kiss and makes Seungmin chase him, only to turn his attention to Seungmin’s neck until Seungmin makes a sharp vulnerable sound. 

When he pulls back, Changbin is kissing him. 

The walk to their destination is agonizingly slow, as they stop often to kiss one another.

“What is this place?” 

“It’s a place that’s special to us,” Changbin responds on his behalf. Speaking to the desolate, and remote location, Changbin plays upon natural fears and buries the kernel of truth in his statement behind nonsense. “we take cute boys out here before we murder them.” 

“I’m scared,” Seungmin draws up closer to Chan, “save me.” 

“Don’t worry, I’ll protect you.” 

The abandoned concrete mixing mill was  _ the  _ place to hang out back when they were kids. Hollowed out mixer at the core, long industrial towers used to hold sand and water reach upward several stories into the sky, and rickety, rusted out ladders and stairs flank either side. 

It’s harder to get to now. Someone fell off the top the year after Chan graduated high school, but the fence was easily cut away in small, inconspicuous places and peeled backward. There are some people here, spilled over from the party, looking for a quiet place to fuck or get high. But the rules are simple, leave well enough alone and everything will be alright. “It’s the best place to see the sunrise.” 

“And the best reason to get a tetanus booster too,” Seungmin responds when Changbin and Chan start kicking at the fence looking for the cut open flap. When they find it, Chan holds it back so that Changbin and Seungmin can sneak through. 

“Trust me,” Chan husks roughly into his ear, “its worth it.” 

* * *

“ _ Holy fuck.”  _ Chan wasn’t kidding when he said that Changbin was good. He’s  _ really _ good. Not that he has a lot of prior experiences to compare it to. Well, okay, he has  _ enough  _ prior experiences to compare it to. Absolutely  _ enough.  _ Amanda Na during the senior production of Oklahoma, which he had lead in by the way, what a costume fitting session that was. Gavin Long, the RA on the third floor of his building, which was totally fine because Seungmin lived on the fifth floor and it totally wasn’t a power imbalance. Not too many, not too few. Enough. Adequate. 

At the top of the tower, Chan sits next to him on a low ledge, their feet dangling off of the side into another small service walkway that leads to the mixer in the center. 

Changbin promptly jumped down onto the catwalk below, putting him at the perfect height to suck their cocks. “Aren’t the stars pretty Seungmin?” 

Chan insists, “Look at them Seungmin.” 

Chan’s voice is firm, yet, sultry and kind. A dangerous mixture to which he  _ has  _ to obey. So he does. Spellbound, he rolls his head back and fixes his eyes upon the starry night sky. 

The sight is breathtaking, humbling even, all of his other senses feel heightened. 

He can hear the clink of his belt, feel the slight pressure of his pants being undone. 

Cool air hits the smooth skin of his thighs and the warmth of his cock, half hard from the attention paid to him by Changbin and Chan. 

Chan’s hand at the back of his neck is caress gentle as he pulls Seungmin into a kiss. Gentle, playful, as if for the first time he and Chan are equals, not some bauble there soley there for Chan’s amusement. 

It’s because maybe they truly are equals right now. Twin baubles, shining and gilded for Changbin’s amusement. 

Warmth envelops his cock and then he understands. It is as if the wind were knocked out of him upon impact. The feeling, terrifying and divine. 

The sound of Chan breaking the kiss is accented by the sharp  _ clink  _ Changbin undoing Chan’s belt.

Warmth envelops him. In that moment, Seungmin steals a glimpse of Changbin. Lower lip depressed obscenely by the weight of his cock, Changbin looks up at him with sultry, half lidded eyes.

Changbin pulls up on his cock with an obscene slurping noise, soft kitten licks at the head of his cock bait him into full hardness almost right away and just when he’s used to the splendid warmth, Changbin changes his approach and swallows him down, down, down, and  _ “ohmygod,  _ Changbin.” He can feel warm breath on his skin, that’s how much of him Changbin’s taken in. 

“Told you it would be worth it,” Chan chuckles darkly into his ear. 

Although he is captivated by the feeling of Changbin’s lips wrapped around his cock, right next to him there’s something equally likely to make his jaw slack with amazement. 

If he focuses, in the dim light of the night he can see, hastily pulled over the waistband of his underwear, Chan’s cock hard and at attention. Precum pearled at the tip. All of that, just because Chan’s boyfriend has his dick in his mouth. 

“You like this huh?” Seungmin  _ taunts  _ Chan, but has next to no idea what he’s doing. Chan is uncut, foreskin almost, but not completely pulled down from around his glans. It like, can’t be that much different from a normal dick right? Not that Chan’s dick isn’t abnormal. It’s---Get it together Kim and stop thinking about it. 

Chan taunts right back, “seen one like this before? Don’t worry, it won’t bite.” 

Seungmin licks his palm and wraps his hand around Chan’s cock. “I might.” 

And when he can feel Changbin buzz around his cock, a stifled laugh that feels like pleasure static against his skin, “he might too.”

“I like the way you think.” 

For a moment, they exist just like that, in a state of give and give and take equilibrium. His hand on Chan’s cock, and Changbin’s mouth on his. 

He loves the way that Changbin takes him all the way down. Loves the way that his gravel voice rakes up and down his cock when he moans like it feels just as good for Changbin as it does for him. Loves the way the warmth and the pressure builds, and builds, and builds. 

When it’s just too good to last, and he feels like he’s gonna pop, Changbin pulls off of his dick, cool air hits the tip, and pride be damned Seungmin  _ whines.  _

“Baby, it’s okay.” No sooner than Changbin’s warm smooth mouth leaves his cock, Chan’s warm rough hand wraps around his cock. Such a sharp, cruel contrast. Although he wants nothing more for his cock to be engulfed in warm and wet, he fucks into Chan’s abrasive touch nevertheless. Desperation pools at his stomach and makes him beg, but for what he’s not certain because in it’s own way, Chan’s touch is addictive. Feeds the fire in the pit of his stomach. 

In a way that is practiced, familiar, and breathtaking, Changbin takes Chan’s cock into his mouth. Not all at once, but teasing the ridge and then drinking him down. And although he could take Seungmin in all at once, Changbin  _ gags  _ on Chan’s cock.

“Ah, easy. Easy babe.” With the hand that isn’t wrapped around Seungmin’s cock, he wraps his fingers around the base of his own cock. 

Changbin pulls off of Chan’s cock, and looks at him like he’s the only person on Earth, even though he talks  _ about  _ Seungmin. “He’s jealous.” 

“We’ll make it worth it.” Chan promises. 

Seungmin, perhaps foolishly, believes him. Seungmin, perhaps greedily, continues to buck up into his palm desperate to chase that feeling that ratchets tighter and tighter. 

It’s strange, and it’s wonderful, and it’s the opposite of what he expected. The touches on his cock become uneven, and then infrequent. Chan leans forward abruptly, tousles Changbin’s thick black hair erratically, with a soft, illicit sound of, “Chang-bin,-ah,” and he cums into Changbin’s mouth. 

Changbin sits pack on his haunches, pleased expression upon his face. He parts those plush lips, revealing thick white cum pooled into his mouth. 

What happens next occurs in slow motion. Changbin moves back toward him. Seungmin moves to meet him. It’s the kind of thing that should repulse him, but it draws him magnetic close to Changbin. When their lips press together, Changbin transfers with each drag of his tongue, Chan’s cum from his mouth into Seungmin’s. 

It’s a diversion tactic for a much more coordinated attack. Chan hops down off of the ledge to join Changbin. Before he can process what’s happening, Chan is licking and sucking on one side of his cock, and Changbin at the other. Their tongues meet tracing the underside vein of his cock and the attention lavished upon him is turned to one another. 

They kiss one another open mouthed and sloppy. 

And then the attention is turned back to him in the blink of an eye. 

Chan sucks his cock, rough and unapologetically, bobbing down onto his cock and pulling back off in rapid motions. 

Then Changbin takes over, taking the head of his cock into his mouth while Chan jerks the base. It’s inevitable now. “Changbin--Chan-I’m--” but they have to know. 

Seungmin cums in short powerful bursts, the way that one does when desire meets desperation. Changbin takes it all into his mouth. Only when he’s finished does he pull off of Seungmin’s cock. He kisses Chan immediately after without swallowing.

Chan grabs Changbin by the middle, and hoists him back up onto the ledge like he weighs nothing at all. With a frantic _click_ of his belt, Changbin undoes his pants. Chan takes him into his mouth right away, hungrily, greedily. Seungmin, does his best to bring pleasure to Changbin best he can given what he's allowed. Sticky, kisses and urgent marks worried into the cords of his neck, and it must be enough. 

Because he cums into Chan's mouth with his face buried in Seungmin's chest. 

* * *

Now, they sit in a row, Seungmin in the middle and Changbin and Chan holding hands behind them. The position has somewhat become the norm for them. 

“Why is this place special to you?”

Chan is honest when he responds, “this is where we had our first kiss.” 

They barely know him, but they seem to be so comfortable with just letting him into their lives. Scraping little details of their story off of the bone and feeding to him, the tenderest pieces that are meant to be savored. 

Seungmin doesn’t understand. The stars in the sky are less brilliant now. It feels as if they’ve been out in the desert for lifetimes. Indigo creeps into the horizon and bleaches out gradually to cornflower blue and tangerine. 

“It was kind of scandalous” Changbin adds. “Chan came here with somebody else.” 

“But we’d known each other for so long, even way back then.” 

They let him in like this, and make him feel so special. Not a bit of it disingenuous. Yet, he way that they make him feel when their eyes are heavy upon him, predatory and calculated, it’s not to be ignored. They want something more out of him than a quick fuck, but they haven’t yet told him. Maybe never even planned on it. 

“So,” his hand is clamped on Changbin’s knee, but he watches Chan as he speaks. “What’s yours?” 

“What?” 

“Your lie by omission?” 


	4. I Wear Your Ring

The horizon is flushed pink, just like Seungmin’s cheeks. 

Although the moon still hangs high in the sky, the sun peeks out over the sharp line of the horizon. In that glowing, crepuscular light, Chan’s brows are knit, lips pursed in such a way that they could fall open in surprise or confusion at the softest of whispers. 

Chan looks like he’s about to tell the truth.

Changbin doesn’t object of course, he’s just not entirely certain what the truth is. 

The fact that Chan hasn’t spoken yet, is proof enough that he hasn’t yet decided either. 

That makes it just a little bit difficult for Changbin. Chan spoils him. Whenever emotion swirls in his mind faster than he can feel, whenever it is unbearable to stay silent, but he cannot seem to find the words that he needs, Chan is always there without fail. Chan picks words for him, ripe from the vine of possibility, and speaks something sweet and poignant. And whenever Chan does this, it always feels like feels exactly like what he wanted to articulate himself. 

It’s only now, in this exact moment, that it occurs to him that he might do the same thing for Chan. It might be frightening, and wonderful, but one thing is certain. This is the first time that he can think of in five or six years that that has ever happened. 

Seungmin asks them, “What’s your lie by omission?” throwing Chan’s words back at him. 

The truth is shaky, and it too contains several lies by omission, “we’re getting married.” 

While he speaks, he holds Chan’s hand and his palm feels sweaty...Or maybe it’s his palm that feels sweaty, he’s just rubbed it all over Chan. 

It’s the truth, sure. It’s just that, in that moment, Changbin did what he assumed was impossible. Doesn’t make Chan’s job of smoothing it all over much easier, because Changbin continues to lie by telling the truth. 

* * *

Seungmin expected as many possibilities as there are grains of sand out in the desert, or stars in the clear night’s sky. There are of course, the unlikely, but interesting ones. Ripped out of a teen movie, two impossibly hot, impossibly cool guys are dared to seduce the nerd. 

Or maybe this is a Dateline story, a cautionary tale told from network television at 9:00 PM. Something salacious, extraordinary, and ready for his mother to tout as common.They’re sexual deviants, and they’re going to lock him in some compromising position for a day or so until the house cleaner finds him and shrieks in horror. 

Then there are the possibilities that are most likely, but are either uninteresting or downright hurtful. They do this all the time, and everything that they do to make him feel special doesn’t mean a damn thing to them at all. Or somehow worse still, the love and the trust that they seem to have for one another is crumbling, and casually fucking tourists just keeps it going a little longer.. 

When Changbin tells him, “we’re getting married,” it’s so far from what he expected, his brain doesn’t even really process it right away. 

“When?” He asks like it’s something simple, like they’re going to meet up for dinner later on. 

“Tomorrow?” Chan quickly corrects, “Today I mean. We went to the courthouse to get all the paperwork yesterday, before we picked you up.” 

“Don’t worry,” Changbin cuts in as if he can sense the unease in Seungmin’s voice. Too bad his comfort misses the mark completely and knocks everything further off balance. “We still plan on fucking you,” he too quickly recorrects. “Well, I mean, you’re gonna fuck me, and Chan’s gonna fuck you. Then you can watch Chan--” 

“The hell? Is this wedding happening  _ before  _ or  _ after  _ we--” They just had their mouths on his dick. He just had his hands on their dicks. It shouldn’t be so hard. “Do all of that?”

“Before” Changbin and Chan respond in unison. 

It’s like every single time they start coming across as normal people with similar hopes and dreams he’s smacked in the face with the reminder that no, they don’t live in reality and there’s nothing normal about them. Their normal is a baby grand piano tarnished with corporate logos. Normal is drinking a $200 bottle of champagne at room temperature during a house party like it’s $9 brut, and those things are very not normal for Seungmin. 

“You wanna get married. Then you wanna have a threesome?” 

Again, scarily in unison both Changbin and Chan admit, “yeah.” 

It’s fake deep meets real deep. Poignancy meets tacky, their decision is one that’s been carefully weighted. Checked and rechecked. He’s only been submerged in this strange reality for a matter of hours, not days, yet he doesn’t even question it. 

“If you’re looking for a reason why, we don’t really have a good one.” But Chan speaks confidently like he’s made up his mind that Seungmin’s made up his mind. “We’re gonna do it anyway, tonight probably.”    
  


“No, I get it. There’s plenty of things I have a really strong opinion about, but I really couldn’t tell you why. Cameras, and stock options, and steak.. I’ll do it that way, because it must be important to you.” 

“So you’re saying you’re in?” Chan asks with a raised brow and a smile. 

“Yeah, I’m in.” 

* * *

Seungmin’s mother berates him for getting in at 7:14 AM, and  _ apparently  _ gets it all out of her system by the time Wonpil gets in at 7:43, and his mother doesn’t have anything to say to him.

He’s not upset at his mom, just  _ disappointed.  _

Wonpil flops down onto the mattress, with a fatigued, yet genuine smile upon his face. “Good night?” 

“Really good night,” Seungmin responds. 

“All bodily functions and fluids under control?” 

“Fuck off,” Seungmin laughs. “But yeah.” 

“Good morning then Seungshine,” Wonpil says closing his eyes. 

Seungmin waits until his brother’s breathing evens out, and a small half snore escapes his open mouth. He’s always been kind of jealous of his brother’s ability to fall asleep quickly, and almost anywhere. “Sweet dreams Wonpil.” 

* * *

Such a welcome sight are Changbin and Chan on the casino floor. Although their backs are turned to him at a table, their profiles are unmistakable. Their black shirt sleeves are rolled up to their elbows, muscular forms upon display. The bright yellow stitching on the soles of the black Doc Martens that they wear, act as the only pop of color between the two. Such a welcome sight, especially after sleeping for a few hours, and then spending a decent chunk of time parked next to his mother on a double slot machine, because this trip was supposed to be for, “family time.” 

Right now, they’re at the blackjack table, and unlike slots, he stands a chance. 

Changbin’s standing at the table alone when he steps out of the elevator. As he crosses the sticky carpeted floor, he watches Chan approach, handing Changbin a long blue and orange drink in a pink plastic container. He touches the small of Changbin’s back tenderly. 

Approaching the table, Seungmin can see that Changbin has a three high, what rotten luck. 

Reaching over Changbin’s shoulder, he taps on the card indicating that he wants to up the ante. 

Of course this earns him a scowl from the dealer, approaching mid hand like that. 

Of course, it earns him an annoyed, “hey!” And then when it registers who he is, “Seungmin!” And to the dealer, “oh, yeah listen to what our Seungmin says.” 

It would be a lie if it didn’t make him glow. 

The dealer doles out cards to everyone who’s asked for another. Changbin reveals his cards, and in a scene that’s too perfect or real life, he flips over an ace to compliment his three and his seven. A perfect twenty-one. 

“Ooh, yeah Seungmin, big shot hustler.” Changbin says as he rakes in a whopping thirty dollars in chips. 

“What’s your secret?” Chan asks.

“Assuming that it’s a fair deck, and assuming I don’t know the history of the deck, what’s come up, and what’s not--” Both Changbin and Chan watch him intently. Embarrassment burns hot across his cheeks. He’s talking about probability, which most people don’t care about. ”And uh the house had a king high and the guy to your left had a queen--”

“Wow.” Changbin takes a long, appreciative draught of his longdrink and then holds his head in pain almost instantly. “Ah, my head hurts. Kiss it and make it feel better.” 

Chan complies, pressing a chaste kiss to his temple. 

“Have some,” Changbin gestures to the obscenely long drink in his hand. “It’s good for you.” 

“Longdrink?” Seungmin physically recoils. He’s still hesitant, especially after the other night. “God no.” 

“What, you’ll spend my money--” 

Chan interjects, “actually I gave you the money because you never carry cash.” 

“Okay, you’ll spend Chan’s money, but won’t drink my drink? That isn’t very nice.” 

“I don’t mind, really,” Chan responds. “Play another round for us, Cherry?” 

It’s too good to be true, like something mocked up for celluloid.  Chan and Changbin easily have a couple hundred in chips in front of them. The choice is simple, “sure.” 

* * *

They’re like a dozen or so hands in. Chan waffles back and forth between wins and losses, never quite risking enough to go under  _ or  _ win any amount that’s satisfying. 

Changbin plays his hands, paying little attention to them. Constantly forking over fifties and hundreds for more chips, he seems to be more focused on breathing down Seungmin’s neck and cupping his ass through the garnet colored fabric of his suit. 

“I’m not good at this like you are,” Changbin huffs after another failed hand. 

"You're not patient." Chan notes. 

“Seungmin, would you believe me if I told you I've never done this before?" Changbin’s confession, oddly personal, is masked by the standard formula. Flirtatious tone in his voice, interrupting himself with a laugh before he can even finish what he’s trying to say. The shreds of vulnerability within the statement, the most important parts, are thrown away like the money he just put onto the table. 

“Gamble?” Seungmin quickly checks his face down card. “Get married?” 

Counting cards is easy. Assign a value to each card, and calculate the true value of each hand. Bet when that true value is higher. Actually racking up money is difficult. The house typically has a 3% advantage. Counting cards can cut into that difference, bring it down to maybe 1% or .5% if you’re good. Even then, what good does it do? He could grind and grind, but without a bankroll he’ll probably only make $20 or $30 an hour. 

“Have a--”  Just saying stuff to get Changbin flustered is easy. The problem is, the advantage that it gives him is negligible at best, because his voice cracks as he says it. Makes him just as flustered too. So when he finally finishes, his voice is just barely a whisper, “ménage à trois?” 

The feeling is only intensified when Chan cuts in. 

“All of the above.” His expression is particularly pleased, seemingly at Seungmin’s ability to make Changbin look flustered. 

Another hand, and then another. Seungmin ultimately cannot say no to Changbin’s offer of saccharine sweet longdrink. 

Then it’s Chan’s turn to breathe down his neck. “Babe, the dealer keeps giving you really dirty looks.” His touches are urgent, not wholly meant to spark fire, or stoke flame. He communicates wanting and warning at the same time. “Let’s get Changbin and cash out.” 

No sooner than the words are out of his mouth, they’re flanked by security. One directly in front of him. One on Chan’s left, the other on Changbin’s right. “I think it’s time you boys went and played something else,” gruffs a sentient pair of dockers with a second chin on his second chin. 

Seungmin has his very best, “yes sir, right away sir,” in the pocket. 

Too bad Changbin interrupts with a cheeky, “no I think it’s okay. We’re winning.” 

Oh god.

“You can either go play something else, or you can leave.” 

“No really, it’s okay,” Changbin insists. From his back pocket he extracts a wallet. At first, Seungmin’s too busy clocking the wallet itself to see what’s inside of it. Snake and rose embroidered pattern, it retails for almost four-hundred dollars. 

It isn’t until the security guard is examining the card that Seungmin notices it himself.  _ No way.  _ Jet black with embossed letters on the front, the  _ Noir Card  _ is given by invitation only. 

“It’s like my dad’s but my name’s on it I think? I don’t know, I haven’t been here since the opening ceremony.” 

What the hell? 

Now there’s a concierge involved, calling off the sentient khakis “Mr. Seo, might we suggest that we show you our exclusive pavillion located upstairs?” 

Seo?  _ Seo?  _ Like the name that’s stamped on every single table in this place? Like the name he’s seen in Forbes  _ Asia 200  _ for like, their casinos and resorts in Macau, Atlantic City, and  _ Las Vegas?  _

“Nah, I’m good.” Changbin tells Seungmin and Chan, “ _ we gotta bounce,”  _ in the universal language of annoyed looks. So they do, trailing after Changbin, out of the wide open mouth of the casino onto the Boulevard. 

* * *

The strip is crowded and hollow. Fountain water, pumped in from far away, recycled, and treated with chemicals, becomes unpleasant in the dry desert air. The scent of chlorine, mixed with stagnation burns at his nose, and ruins the illusion of majesty outside of the Bellagio. 

But there’s one thing that can’t be taken away, distilled, or made cheap, even here. 

That one thing is his fiance wolfishly eating a hot dog loaded with toppings, his face suddenly flush from several shots worth of alcohol hidden in a very long, very sugary drink. “Is this it?” Changbin asks with a childish lilt to his voice. 

“Yeah.” 

Changbin quickly finishes his food, gulps down the rest of his drink, and suffers through the subsequent brain freeze. Only then does he excitedly rush towards the barricade and wedge himself between several tourists, and seemingly right on time. Prerecorded music fills the promenade. Spotlights illuminate places on the manmade pond, as the fountains bubble to life. 

Too apt, the song in rotation for  _ this  _ particular show is a popular wedding march,  _ Canon in D _ . 

He and Seungmin fall back, and take in Changbin’s childlike excitement as he watches with excitement. 

Standing here, next to Seungmin in his off the rack suit, it’s easy to pretend that they aren’t surrounded by tourists, all of them drinking long drinks without any particular brand of shame or ironic attachment. Easy to pretend that he isn’t made extremely uncomfortable by everything that just transpired in the casino. 

Seungmin makes him feel warm, and nervous, and genuinely and effortlessly  _ classy  _ in a way that he’s never quite harnessed. Instead of being envious of it, he hopes that just by being near him, some of it will rub off onto him. Or that he could bottle it up and keep it for when he needs it most, because he knows that they’ll have to tell their parents someday. 

By Changbin’s parent’s standards, neither Chan or Seungmin come from money. He understands how stupid this is because he knows how much Seungmin’s Armani cost. Knows how much his very own Diesel jacket cost, and he bought it on a whim. He also knows, without really knowing, that his in-laws would absolutely love Seungmin. Not mind him being around their baby boy so much. 

“So what, this one yours?” Seungmin asks referring to the Bellagio and it’s aquatic garishness. 

“No,” Chan responds. “I’m afraid that unlike Changbin, my family is just regular rich, not abhorrently so.” 

They should join Changbin at the rail. Nip at the lobe of his ear while he tries to focus on the water. He looks back at them every few seconds, but doesn’t insist that they come forward. 

“No one else knows what you’re doing.” The way that Seungmin says it settles heavy in his gut. It’s a statement. And a question. And an omission. And too much that’s freely given. 

The way that Seungmin says it settles heavy in his gut. 

“Changbin’s older sister went through so much  _ bullshit,  _ leading up to her wedding. We wanted things to be simpler. The right people know what we’re doing.” 

It’s a heavy conversation, but Chan’s never felt more free or reassured of their decision. Because now, Seungmin looks at him, not with frightened wide eyes, like he is prey and Chan is predator, but as if he finally believes that they are equals. The best way to celebrate this shift is to kiss Seungmin the way that he expects him to kiss. Lace their fingers together, pull him close and make his knees buckle. Kiss Seungmin like he’s trying to convince him that he’s worth skipping seminar for. Demanding tongue and graze of his teeth to remind him that this is only a hint of what’s to come. 

They part as the music falls into silence, and the fountains quit dancing. All that’s left is what he knows for certain. He’ll freefall into the inky black ocean of love and devotion that he has for Changbin. He’ll gladly let Seungmin push him over the edge. 

Seungmin looks over at Changbin quickly, and then at him. “You should get over there. I’ll take some engagement photos for you...Something nice you can put on Instagram.” 

He likes the idea, so Chan does as he’s told, filling in the space between Changbin and a group of girls taking bachelorette party photos. 

“It’s not so bad out here.” Changbin’s expression is so soft in the now dimmed light.    


“The view is really nice,” and he can’t help but crack a smile when Changbin begrudgingly cracks a smile at his horrible pickup line. 

“Are you hitting on me?” 

“I’ll have you know I’m engaged.” 

“I am too.” 

“I saw you kissing Seungmin.” 

“Yeah,” he can’t play anymore. “Wanna kiss you too.” Chan kisses fiancee in the way that he thinks that a husband should. Soft, like he wants to feel the suppleness in Changbin’s mouth that he may have taken for granted over the course of all these years. Each swipe of his tongue confessing to Changbin that even though he’s scared, he’s ready. 

Changbin laces their fingers together. The water and lights begin anew. 

* * *

The wedding package costs $289.34. Seungmin knows this for a fact, because he stands at the counter in the lobby and watches Changbin throw down his black card and sign his name upon the receipt. He leaves the officiant a generous $100 tip. 

Included is that package, is a red rose boutonnière and bridal bouquet that’s quickly shoved back into the cooler and swapped out for _another_ red rose boutonniere by the flush red clerk.“No, it’s not, it looks weird,” Changbin tries to grab Chan’s flower and straighten it, but the bud bruises under his touch. 

“That’s not right. Changbin, you’re making it worse.” 

He thought maybe he’d feel like an intruder. 

It feels so natural when he embeds himself between them. Taking the dark red flowers from Chan’s hands, plucks a bruised petal from the largest bud, and finds space for it on Chan’s lapel. 

He does the same for Changbin. 

“Now you,” Chan insists, pinning a smaller carnation bud to his lapel. “Ah, geez, I can’t believe you’re making me feel under dressed at my own wedding,” Chan notes smoothing out the fabric of his lapel and his tie. 

“Ohmygod.” Seungmin yanks on the silk fabric automatically. “Here you can wear it, it will go with your shirt.” 

“Well, now I’m underdressed,” Changbin cuts in. 

“Not so fast,” Seungmin fiddles through his camera bag. “If I’m wearing a tie, I never leave the house without a spare tie.”  __ It’s not as nice as the one that Chan slipped over his neck, but it’s  _ something.  _

_ “ _ Oh, of course _ , _ ” Chan quips. 

“I don’t know how to tie this,” Changbin pouts. 

Chan moves quickly, stepping in to tie the fabric around his groom’s neck. Maybe it’s for the best, maybe it’s something too personal and too intimate for him to do with Changbin alone. 

“You look really good.

“So do you,” Changbin responds. 

In that moment, Seungmin’s face feels flush hot. Because yeah, somehow this is more secret, more private, than anything he’s done with them before. 

“Hey flowerboy,” Jamie calls from the doorway leading from the lobby into the chapel. Gesturing with her maid of honor’s bouquet, she directs him into the chapel with a fistful of baby’s breath and red carnations. “Get in here, you gotta throw some flowers on the ground for the bride.” 

It feels so natural when, in that moment, he steps away, and gives them privacy. 

For a place that’s trimmed with pink and blue neon on the outside, it’s almost surprising how it looks on the inside. For a moment, the unapologetic strip kitsch is erased. An elegant white baby grand piano flanks that altar. Seungmin tries to capture all of it with his lens. The strange, almost sterile pristineness of the room and the nervous energy that he shares with a handful of other people spread across two dozen or more white chairs. 

He’s glad he was able to linger outside the chapel for as long as possible. He recognizes several faces, but doesn’t feel comfortable among them. Many of them from ripping a body shot off of Chan’s stomach: Felix and Han. Then Hyunjin, who interrupted him and Chan out on the back porch. Although he doesn’t know his name, he recognizes the boy who drunkenly belted out trot songs in the great room for what  _ seemed  _ like hours. Another complains that they should’ve brought Berry, and he can only assume that that’s Minho. A final man sits at the baby grand piano, and Jamie begs, “c’mon Woojin, play something really sentimental like  _ Cotton Eye Joe.”  _

The whole ceremony takes less than ten minutes. He glanced once at his fossil watch before the ceremony, because the chapel pushes people through in thirty minute increments. 

But in those ten minutes, in a chapel that is open twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, there is the potential to mary forty-eight couples a day, three hundred thirty-six couples a week, over fourteen hundred a month...The point is, he’s not certain if any of them have captured as much love as that which exists between Changbin and Chan, and he’s not just saying that because he’s going to crash their wedding night. 

They stand at the altar with joined hands, and speak to each other as if they are the only people in the room. 

Seungmin does his best to capture this too, with his lens. 

“Changbin, do you remember the night you asked me to marry you?” 

“Yeah.” 

“I’ll never forget. So romantic. You made dinner reservations, which we missed because I had a flat tire. I hadn’t eaten all day, because we were supposed to go to Nobu and I wanted to eat  _ everything.  _ God, I was so hungry, and it was July. Like a hundred and three degrees. You were just so done. So that’s how it went. In the front seat of my car in a Jimmy John’s parking lot over a turkey club.” 

“It was a BLT,” Changbin corrects. 

“Either way, there wasn’t a single doubt in my mind. I had to say yes. My promises to you are simple. I will never, regret that decision, and I will always love you. ” 

More photos, but in this moment he doubts himself. No matter how many photoburts he takes, is he capturing  _ that  _ smile, or  _ that  _ secret gaze that speaks so many volumes? 

“Chan, you remember the night you first told me you loved me?” 

Chan’s face is bright red. He looks at the taupe colored carpet sheepishly. “Yeah.” 

“Out at the concrete mixer. You took me, and Minho, and Woojin all in your car. So you went up there with someone else. I mean, I saw you up there because I climbed up there.

“I didn’t even know you were into guys!” 

“I just figured it out myself!” Changbin interjects, as if this is a conversation that they’d had a thousand times before. 

“I got pissed off, and then you chased after me,” Changbin’s face morphs into a satisfied smile. “Asked me why I was mad. Told me you loved me. I don’t even know if I knew myself until you said it, but after that, I knew. I loved you too. My promise to you is also pretty simple. You have helped me come to understand so many things. I hope you always do that. ”

“That’s something you want  _ me  _ to do.” 

Changbin shushes Chan immediately. “I promise that I will always value your perspective. I will always be stronger with you, and yeah, I will always love you.” 

Rings are exchanged. Seungmin quickly regrets giving Jamie his silk handkerchief, because at some point, he can no longer contain the sniffles or hold back the flood gates, and he’s full on crying right in the front pew. 

The officiant speaks softly, “You promise to keep these vows that you have written to one another, for the rest of your lives?”

First Changbin, and then Chan respond, “I do.”    
  



	5. Cherry Colored Funk

“Get it together Kim,” Seungmin looks at himself in the mirror. His face is flush, his dress shirt mussed from kissing Changbin and Chan at stoplights. His neck is already dusted with an archipelago of trophies won over the past three days in varied shades of yellow, brown, purple and black. 

Okay, so all he’s gotta do is--he looks at a plastic pharmacy shopping bag on the counter and immediately feels dizzy-- _ exactly  _ what Changbin told him to do. Take a shower, put on the--Seungmin’s eyes drift to the black box that sits on the  _ opposite  _ end of the counter. Lifts the lid to peek inside, and immediately slams it back down again as soon as he catches sight of red lace. 

It’s not that he’s wholly against wearing the underwear that Changbin said that he bought for Seungmin. It’s just--well it makes it a whole _thing_ doesn’t it? If he puts it on, does he just strut out into the suite, in _nothing_ but the panties? Does he wriggle into satiny robe that’s been _too conveniently_ left on the hook on the back of the door? 

It makes him feel…

Discomfited? 

Chagrin? 

Malaise? 

Distressed? 

Nothing comes to mind that quite captures the mixture of apprehension, discomfort, and excitement that he feels right now, but god does he ever feel it. 

A knock at the door makes him jump. The lingerie box falls to the floor with a clatter. “Damn it!” 

“Seungmin,” Changbin’s voice is muffled through the door, but the concern is crystal clear. “Your anxiety is spilling out into the bedroom. It’s making it real hard to get hard.” 

“Everything is fine!” Yeah, real convincing. 

The door jostles, and for a moment, he’s concerned that Changbin’s decided to strong arm his way inside. Relief washes over him when he realizes that he isn’t. 

“Seungmin, I’m sitting on the floor with my back to the door talking to you.” 

Okay. 

“You should sit on the floor with your back to the door while I talk to you. Neither of us can see it, but it's the kind of thing that would look really cool if this were a movie.” 

“Would it?” Despite the fact that he’s drunkenly  _ laid  _ on this very bathroom floor before, the idea doesn’t sit well with him. Instead, Seungmin leans with his back to the door. Almost as Changbin requested. “Okay, I’m doing it.” 

“Let me guess. You probably think that we’re like super good at sex. That’s probably freaking you out...I mean, we are. Super good at sex.” 

“How is this helping?” 

“Okay, I’m trying to tell you something.” There’s a slight pause on the other side of the door. “Here’s the thing. We’re super good at sex with each other. We haven’t had sex with anyone else. Ever.” 

It’s a truth that was previously told to Seungmin through omission. He inferred as much in hearing their vows. After all, Chan told him he loved him the night they started dating. 

“So if you’re nervous, well,” he laughs dry and acerbic. “We’re really nervous too. Why wouldn’t we be? It turns out we really like you." 

“Because of me?” 

The door shakes again, and this time he grabs at the doorknob in panic. 

“I’m sitting against the door too now.” Chan’s voice seeps in underneath the door frame. “Of course. We know you’re kind of particular about things. But, we don’t really know everything you’re particular about. Ah-” Chan’s voice cuts off as if he’s flustered. 

Seungmin had no idea that Chan could get flustered. Maybe that’s the most comforting of anything that’s been said on either side of the master bathroom door. 

* * *

When Seungmin emerges from the bathroom, the first thing that he notices is that Changbin is completely naked, save for a white and gold Versace jockstrap. The elastic straps beg to be popped against his skin. 

The second thing that he notices, is that Chan is completely dressed. Several buttons on his shirt are undone and Seungmin’s loosened tie still dangles limply around Chan’s neck. His hair is tousled and messy _.  _ In a mirrored image of the way that they all came together for the very first time, Chan's taking photos of Changbin in bed. 

They both turn in unison to look at him. Where their stares felt hungry before, right now the weight of their gaze feels down right ravenous. 

“I can’t believe you started without me,” Seungmin’s voice sounds  _ almost  _ confident. 

“Just warming up for the main event.” Chan tosses Changbin his camera with an air of nonchalance. Like he’d buy Seungmin two more if anything happened to it.

“He’s like a present for us to unwrap, huh Chan?” He’s wearing the robe that was hooked onto the back of the door. 

“Tied up with a bow,” Chan responds closing the distance between himself and Seungmin. He toys with the loose ribbon belted at Seungmin’s waist. 

Dutifully, Changbin presses the shutter button, capturing the image of Chan cupping his neck softly. Chan’s hands trailing down his neck, pushing back the thick soft fabric of the robe and splaying his palm wide upon his chest.  Only when he closes his eyes do their lips meet. Heavy at his pulse point, Chan’s fingertips probe his neckline as if he wants to commit to the way each tendon shifts beneath his skin. The kiss ends with the robe in a silken pool upon the floor. 

_ Snap.  _

The feeling of fabric against his skin is jarring. After all, Chan is still fully clothed. Chan turns him around and pulls him close to his chest, his whole body exposed to Changbin and the lens of the camera. 

_ Snap. Snap.  _

Chan mouths another mark, deep purple and prevalent upon his neck, as if he were trying to cover over all the little, lighter ones that Changbin put there before. 

A different kind of burn settles just between the skin and the muscle. Seungmin watches Changbing watch them, but Changbin’s deep almost pensive expression gives away no indication of how he feels. 

Chan drags a hand down his chest, and his skin burns even after Chan’s hand no longer touches that space. Lower, and lower, until his thumb catches the against waistband of his underwear. 

The shutter halts. Changbin rises from the bed. With one hand he passes off the camera to Chan. With the other, he hooks his index finger into the waistband of Seungmin’s panties beckoning him forward. 

As a parting gift, Chan swats him playfully on the bottom as he walks towards Changbin. 

Although Changbin’s body is smoldering hot, his bare skin seems to act as a salve from all the places that Chan burned with his touch. Changbin has kissed him dozens, if not hundreds of times in the few short days since they’ve met. So many of them tinged with an aggression that seems enacted for the sole purpose of blotting out his true, almost inherent tenderness. 

Seungmin walks them back, back back, as if the bed had a gravitational pull, and they were caught in it. 

_ Snap.  _

In disjointed, flashbulb snaps, he’s standing and then he’s leaning, and then he’s on top of Changbin in bed. Childishly, he does what he’s wanted to do since the moment he stepped out of the bathroom by grabbing the waistband of Changbin’s jock and snapping the elastic.

This earns him the desired reaction as Changbin pouts at him. 

Seungmin’s hands grip Changbin’s hips so firmly, that they’re certain to bruise; he slots his thigh at the center of Changbin’s crotch. Changbin ruts up against him, and he makes Seungmin feel every inch of his hard, cloth covered cock against his bare thigh. 

_ Snap. Snap.  _

Noises of frustration and discomfort spill from Changbin’s mouth as Seungmin grinds back, but not once, not once does he stop. 

But the shutter does. 

Chan asserts himself in between, stealing Changbin right out from under him. Roll positions so that Changbin’s on top. Chan sits with his back against the headboard of the bed with Changbin straddling him. Chan’s hands grope his ass, dip into the cleft, and undoubtedly apply pressure against his hole.

Seungmin watches something intimate, and something private. Something exchanged between two people on their wedding night. Heat pools in his cheeks, and he can hear the roar of his own heart in the shell of his ears. Despite all of this, he cannot bear to look away. 

Seungmin’s tie still dangles limply around Chan’s undershirt. Changbin carefully undoes the knotted silk, and rests it on top of the nightstand with great care, simply because it belongs to him. 

In sharp contrast, Changbin takes the lapels of Chan’s shirt in his hands and violently tugs, popping buttons and ruining the fabric. 

With that single action, Changbin takes his breath away. 

_ Snap.  _

Changbin continues, undoing Chan’s belt and dragging his pants downward with practiced familiarity. Palming Chan’s cock through his underwear makes him sport a pleased grin. 

Chan pulls Changbin impossibly  _ closer,  _ so that they rest chest to chest. 

Fingers threaded through the hair at the nape of Chan’s neck, Changbin sews himself into Chan. And it shows Seungmin that a kiss is never just a kiss. It’s something brand new, and a chorus, and promise, each and every time. 

A vulnerable, almost begging noise cuts through the tension in the room. In a fraction of a second, both Changbin and Chan pivot their attention  _ back  _ to him. It’s only then, in that moment, that he realizes that the noise has come from him. After all, he’s palming his cock against red lace. 

Because of a kiss. 

Shift on the bed, and they blanket him. Changbin kisses him like he’s known him long enough, been away from him long enough to miss him. Chan steals him away from Changbin and kisses him like he wants to erase his own husband’s name from his tongue. Spit pools in the corners of his mouth. Throat and lips feel husked and dry. 

Ever relentless, Changbin and Chan kiss down the line of his jaw with precision. When they reach his neck, they clamor for any bit of space: the hollow of his neck, and the diviot of his collar bones. Play with his nipples, as if they were something novel and forbidden, constantly and disjointedly alternating between grazing their teeth against the sensitive buds and soothing with kisses and tongue. Chan on the up tempo, and Changbin on the down. Assault and soothe. Assault and soothe. 

Chan asks him, “What do you want, Cherry?” 

Seungmin and Chan kiss again, because it’s something that Seungmin never tires of. Seungmin responds, “everything.” 

And they make sure to give him everything that he wants. 

* * *

Although his camera gets discarded on the nightstand, Seungmin still feels as if he experiences everything through the shutter lens, detached, yet front and center.

Chan asks him, “you wanna fuck my husband?” 

And certainly he gives a response even though everything sounds garbled and unclear, as if he’d submerged his ears underwater. 

He hears Changbin’s voice. Hears his voice, and watches his expression shift into a familiar, but maddeningly petulant grin. 

Seungmin pulls his jockstrap down, watching his cock bob free. 

As if Chan knows that Seungmin wants to see and feel every secret and tangled part of Changbin and Chan’s bodies, he wrestle-nuzzles Changbin down so that he’s laying prone on the bed. 

“Get off me you brute, our Seungmin would never treat me this way.” 

“Changbin, I’m right here,” husked into his ear as he huddles in close. 

Chan pulls away, but not before slapping Changbin’s ass with a satisfied  _ smack.  _

Seungmin straddles his thighs. In pressing a kiss to the shell of his ear and swatting his other cheek, he’s rewarded Changbin’s sharp yelp. Twin patches of red are now framed by unblemished skin. 

Chan offers him lube, and a boost to his rapidly fluctuating confidence, “his fingers are so long Changbin. He’s going to feel so good.” 

Tracing Changbin’s rim with the tip of his index finger there’s one strong, and omnipresent thought as he  _ drags  _ his finger across Changbin’s twitching skin. 

_ Oh god ...his dick is going to go inside.  _

With this in mind, he applies pressure. His finger slides in with resistance, and yet Changbin seemingly welcomes the intrusion with a shudder and a sigh. Changbin, every bit of him, is complex to the point of deception.

Okay, he to needs think about what it is that he likes so that he can do it for Changbin. Slow circles? Gentle swipes of his fingertips? Urgent presses? All of it and none of it, because it's hard to do alone, and everyone he’s fucked was horrible at fingering. Like he knows what to do, he’s just not sure of how exactly to get there. 

"Earth to planet Cherry," Changbin teases over his shoulder. 

"You should see his expression." Chan responds. "So serious."

"I was trying to think!"

He settles for what he knows, health magazine standard  _ come hither  _ motions. A second finger, and feather light circles that build, and build, and catch lovers by surprise. 

It’s a point of great personal pride with he’s awarded with a soft whimper moan. 

He continues like this for a moment, dragging out soft little moans from Changbin. Pressing harder, and more deliberately when those sounds are swallowed up by Chan kissing him. And is it wrong? Is it selfish that he wants every moan unobstructed. Every sigh and every whine just for himself. Seungmin abandons the notion of gentle touches and rewarding mewels in favor of abusing Changbin's swollen prostate in favor of an urgent, demanding  _ press.  _

The sound that he’s rewarded with now, a squeal that teeters on the brink of pleasure and discomfort. 

“Chan, he’s being mean to me.” 

Like a child whose been caught red handed doing something wrong, Seungmin responds, “I am not!” 

Chan only laughs. He’s made himself comfortable, arranging himself in such a way that he can easily move between Seungmin, and whispering secret sweet-nothings to his husband. He then pulls his own skin tight black briefs  _ down  _ ever so slightly to touch his cock. He tugs his foreskin up over the glans and then back down again, watching everything with an unwavering precision, as if he doesn’t want to miss a single moment. 

“Let me see,” and his fingers press against Changbin’s rim. “No, don’t move,” he corrects when Seungmin tries to remove his own fingers. “He’s still so tense.” Chan’s finger slides inside of Changbin alongside his own, and it’s absolutely filthy. So tight, and so wet for him. For  _ them.  _

Perfect. Too perfect. Changbin looks at them over his shoulder with puffy pouting lips and heavy lidded eyes, as if he’d been woken up from a nap. “Let’s get on with it Chan. Seungmin wants to fuck your husband.” 

* * *

Chan seems to do anything but  _ get on with it. _

Chan makes a production of teasing him,  cupping his heavy sac through thin lace. “Those panties must feel so uncomfortable, hm?” He taunts grinding the heel of his palm against the length of Seungmin’s cock as if he were daring him. Daring him to fuck his husband better. Damp lace catches against Chan’s palm and makes his cock feel infuriatingly rubbed red and needy.. 

Seungmin's response, a muffled "uh-hm".

“That’s a shame. They look so good on you.” But Chan hooks his finger underneath the band, pulling the lace lower and lower revealing smooth skin and letting his cock flop upward against his stomach with a bob. A shining smatter of precum gets left behind on his stomach. 

“There, that must feel so much better, yeah?” 

It isn’t until Chan laps away that smatter of precum off of his stomach that he responds.“Yeah.” 

Chan reaches for and unwraps a condom. With his free hand, he licks the tip of his fingers, and wraps his hands around Seungmin’s cock letting him feel each contrasting rough callous and patch of smooth skin on his hand. 

“God yeah, so much better.” 

“He’s so hard, Changbin.” Stroking and twisting until he feels like he could just cum in Chan’s hand. Then, he pinches the tip of the condom and rolls it down Seungmin’s cock. 

When he blankets Changbin’s body, he’s met with the demand, “now give hyung a kiss.” 

And he does, kissing him while he pushes inside, inch, by inch, by inch. Even through the thin, yet obstructive barrier of the condom, he can feel just how sinfully warm and forbiddenly wet Changbin is. 

“You know what they call it Chan?” Changbin’s hair slick with sweat falls forward in his face. Chan pushes it away with the hand that isn’t wrapped around his own dick. 

“Boyfriend dick.” His breath hitches, before he continues, “you know why?” 

“Cause it’s not your husband’s dick?” 

Chan doesn’t dare him to fuck his husband  _ better,  _ but insists that he do it  _ different.  _

After all, that’s why he’s here. 

Perfection is fucking Changbin’s ass, and getting caught by surprised at the sensation of his own cock twitching at the sound of chan’s voice. “Don’t be afraid to go harder. That’s what he really likes.” 

Pleasure builds and builds at the base of his spine and the base of his cock. His white knuckle control isn’t depleted, it’s obliterated completely. Especially when Changbin pushes back onto his cock, furtively humping the duvet. 

All too soon, there’s no turning back, and he’s cumming in thick hot bursts into the condom. “Fuck-oh fuck,” and even though he’s ashamed, he’s not ashamed  _ enough  _ to think about how much better Changbin’s gape would look with his cum dribbling down the crest of his sac. 

* * *

“You’re really close huh?” It’s like Seungmin’s ears popped again, and he can hear voices, and tones, but the words just don’t quite click. Is sex induced aphasia a thing? If so, is the cure fucking? 

“C’mon,” Chan’s voice is interrupted by sticky kisses. “Let me take care of you.” 

Changbin makes another pouting sound. 

From the corner of his eye, Seungmin watches him roll over onto his back. Chan settles in between his legs. 

As Seungmin wipes himself clean, Changbin’s discarded underwear becomes a fifty dollar cumrag. 

Chan’s gaze soon matches his own, and Seungmin must be making a pinched, scowling expression, because Chan is so quick to soothe. “Ah, Seungmin, don’t tell me you’re upset.” 

“We have all night, right?” Changbin adds. “I bet you don’t even go all the way soft. 

“If you think this is going to end, with out  _ me  _ making you cum?” Chan continues. “You’re wrong,” and it sends shivers down his spine. No sooner than the words are spoken, Chan’s pushing the head of his cock, thick, uncut, and uncovered by a condom into Changbin’s stretched out hole. 

Changbin arches up off the bed, and it’s just too perfect, the way that his expression is trapped just between the pain of Chan going in too hard and too deep, and the pleasure of being filled. Fucked, finally, by his husband. 

Chan fucks Changbin slowly, as if they really do have all the time in the world. Pulling himself almost all the way out so that only the head of his cock stays inside, and pushing back in, viscous and sweet. He Changbin’s cock in time with these thrusts until Seungmin takes over. 

With the smooth glide of skin against Seungmin’s palms, he watches as Changbin’s eyes roll back in his head and his lower lip becomes trapped between his teeth, somehow making them look even redder and more supple. 

As he often is, begrudgingly so, Changbin’s right. In no time at all Changbin’s spilling across his stomach and Changbin’s hand. Between his own legs, he can already feel his cock stirring. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting. For Chan to make good on his promise. 

* * *

“I can’t keep fucking him.” Chan notes. “My baby gets too sensitive.” He fists his cock in long, uneven strokes. “So,” brow arched, mouth pulled into a grin. “Can I have some fun with you?” 

And it’s just that easy to make Seungmin glow, honest and unashamed. “Yeah.” He doesn’t know what happens next, he just knows that he wants it so badly. 

It’s somehow much tamer than what he expected next. Chan him down upon the bed, slow and gentle. Like he’s the blushing bride. 

“I love your smile. So much.” Chan cradles Seungmin’s face in his palm. Touches roam lower, down his arm, down the curve of his stomach and up his hip. His fingers return to Seungmin’s lips. “And god, I really want to get off. Like I thought I could wait, but--” and it’s nice. Nice to know that Chan still feels that same pressure to get everything right the first time around. After all, why take the LSAT a second time when you can just get a score of 170 the first time around? 

“Since last night. I can’t stop thinking about it.” Perfectly soft. As if he already knows, he parts his lips and accepts Chan’s thumb. 

Soft flick of the tongue. Impish smile around his digit. 

“How your mouth would feel on me.” 

Seungmin’s mouth falls open, ever so slightly in surprise. 

* * *

Chan’s cock feels thick, weighty, against his tongue. His skin smells of just the right mixture of sweat and high end cologne. His skin tastes just like that. Like skin. And it’s so weird how maybe, thirty minutes ago Changbin was talking him down off of some ledge over the very  _ idea  _ of doing anal, and now?

Chan makes him stupid. Sucks his IQ straight out of his dick. 

It’s just that--A contented sound slips from Chan’s mouth, and his first and only reaction is to chase it. Make him do it again, and again and again. Overeager, he takes more of Chan into his mouth, ignoring his body's natural response and gagging on his cock. 

"Easy Cherry," Changbin's voice, so often rough and dark is comforting soft now like seductive black velvet. 

Letting the head of his cock rest against the plush of his lips, Seungmin laps apprehensively, and then assuredly at the slit. Everything else just feels like he's toying with Chan. So he disregards Changbins warning once more to disastrous results. Gagging, sputtering, and pulling off of Chan's cock completely. 

"Seungmin," Chan looks at him in a way that he can best describe as privileged and hard earned. "Oh fuck.” Chan’s fingers return to Seungmin’s mouth smearing drool across his face. In that moment, he's acutely aware of the daring teardrops that line his eyes and threaten to stream down his cheeks. "God, you look ruined, and I mean that in the best way."

Seungmin thinks he gets it. Somewhere between an immaculate letter sweater and a vomit streaked pullover there's this.

Changbin slips his hand around the base of Chan's cock. "Let's try this again."

Like he's gone to the TA for office hours, Changbin walks him through it. Chan's cock passes through his lips but Changbin's fist prevents him from going too deep. In doing so, he can pause and feel the veiny underside of Chan's cock and the soft, off tempo pulses into his mouth. 

"You're so cruel to me Chan.” Changbin kisses Chan despite his statement. “You made my cock useless and floppy.” Not completely true. Changbin’s already sporting a semi and teasing it. “And you get this.”

Chan responds, not with a hiss of approval but an honest to god full on moan of pleasure. 

What Chan says next makes his chest feel tight. “I'm positive you'll have the chance to get even.” Changbin will, and he looks forward to it. 

But not nearly as much as he chases Chan’s orgasm, maybe harder and faster than Chan does himself. Frantic movements of his tongue across Chan’s ridge. Desperate bobs up and down the length of his cock in tandem with Changbin as he jerks Chan off. Soon enough, and very much to his own satisfaction, Chan is cumming in Seungmin’s mouth thick, hot, nasty, with no condom to separate them _.  _

He swallows greedily and without question. 

* * *

Two years ago he gave his first ever blow job with too much teeth. Spat the cum in a discarded Starbucks cup, but only after he spilled the last few sips out of that morning’s almond milk latte onto the floor. But he heard the sounds that Chan made, and he knows for a fact that he’s gotten better. 

Because of that, Seungmin feels like the millions of dollars in Changbin’s bank account. Like he hasn’t bottled or replicated the almost effortless brand of sexy that Chan emanates, but forged it himself. Makes him feel ready...almost ready for what comes next. 

“Look Chan, he’s getting hard again.” Changbin’s tone is teasing. 

“Well, you haven’t taken your hand off of his cock.” 

“You haven’t either.” 

“I have so,” and a sheepish smile spreads across Chan’s face. “To touch yours.” And then Seungmin’s watching them kiss again, which means he’s soon kissing them. It’s  _ comfortable  _ without being routine _.  _

They trade touch, teases, and kisses, whisper-secrets, and obvious confessions, for what feels like days, but cannot last longer than half an hour. Everyone gets hard again, but unlike before, the urgency feels stripped away. 

“You know what we should do?” Changbin stage whispers, loud enough so that Chan can hear every word. 

“What?” 

“We should get you ready for Channie to fuck you.” 

“Okay.” 

Changbin whispers quieter now, like it’s almost a secret. The raspy tambor sends shivers down his spine. “You should let me eat you out.” 

Oh, how he must live up to the nickname they’ve given him now, his whole face burns hot, the embers kicked up by the wind and burn across his chest. 

"Changbin, that's evil. Even for you. Our Cherry's so red." 

"You're not helping," Seungmin muffle whispers from deep within the divot of Chan’s clavicle. 

“If you let him, he's really good,"challenging every assumption that he's made about the way that Changbin and Chan have sex. "How bout this. If you're nervous. If you're self conscious about the idea of riding Changbin's face, getting you all nice and wet so i can fuck you--" 

"Jesus--" that's all he manages. Changbin's kissing him and Chan’s moving him. 

“Just think about how I’m gonna fuck you when he’s done. Nice and slow first, so you can get used to me.” Wordlessly, he’s moved into a supine position. “Then faster, rougher.” It feels  _ so  _ dirty. “Until I cum in your ass.” It makes him forget to feel embarrassed when Changbin boldly and unashamedly grabs his hips and hikes his ass upward for better access. 

Of course, Chan places soft pillows underneath to cradle him. 

Expecting contact with his ass immediately, Seungmin lets out a sigh of relief when Changbin presses a tender kiss on his inner thigh. The pattern that’s been imprinted down his neck,  _ kiss, suck, bite _ is repeated here on his inner thighs and it makes Seungmin’s stomach feel warm just above his groin. 

Chan’s hand, purposefully slicked with lube this time, returns to his cock teasing the head between thumb and forefinger. When they’re both doing this to him, the whole world becomes a lot simpler. With the analysis and the anxiety shaken away, there’s nothing left but the glowing way that Changbin make him feel important and loved. 

He should know better by now but, he’s still caught off guard when Changbin pulls it all crashing down. Pressing his tongue against his hole and lapping without shame. 

Seungmin  _ yelps  _ in response. 

“It’s okay,” Chan soothes, pushing his legs back upwards towards his chest. “Right?” Chan looks to him for confirmation. 

“Yeah,” he chokes in response. 

Changbin accommodates his apprehension, lapping at him softly. No pressure, just a flash of warm and wet against his skin, and the feeling of hot breath and cold air when he pulls back. On and on like this until he becomes habituated. 

Until Chan’s hand returns to his cock and makes him forget how weird it is, and he can’t help but fuck up into Chan’s hand. Of course, bucking up into Chan’s hand means he also, haphazardly presses his ass closer to Changbin’s mouth. It all feels so dirty, and it all feels so good, even when Changbin licks a long, unapologetic stripe from his tailbone, over his hole, and across the crest of his balls until he’s mouthing at the base of his cock. Then, he traces back down, more aggressive now, he presses against his hole with his tongue, not quite  _ inside  _ but the feeling of intrusion lingers on his skin. 

The moans that slip out of his mouth must sound so desperate now. He feels so desperate now.  _ Is  _ so desperate now. 

This feeling of desperation is amplified when Chan releases his cock, and demands with need in his voice “I want my turn.”

_ Oh god.  _ The thought of Chan touching him.

Changbin protests, but lets Chan fall between Seungmin’s legs anyway. 

Not before demanding a kiss from Chan. 

The dangerous twin feeling of his cock twitching in arousal, and the swell of pride in his chest returns. Because he’s on Changbin’s tongue, his lips, his mind even as he kisses his husband, his husband who also has _ him _ on his mind. 

Chan takes his hand, and holds it, almost sweetly before placing it atop his own head. “Don’t be afraid to pull my hair, okay?” Chan says with a smirk and a wink before burying his face in his ass. 

Chan doesn’t bother with playing nice, or warming him up, because he  _ knows  _ just how wrecked and desperate Seungmin feels. He laps across his hole and plunges his tongue inside, lapping enthusiastically until Seungmin feels saliva slide down his crack. Until he feels wet and messy and used. 

And he does tug at Chan’s hair. Fitfully so until he can feel the sharp bite of Chan’s fingernails dig into his skin. Back arches of the bed, and Changbin’s holding him down. 

Chan’s tongue is replaced by the blunt pressure of his finger. The change is unmistakable, the stretch and the burn, unavoidable. Yet, it feels so different from the times he’s tried it before. One finger becomes two. The pressure against his prostate varies constantly between  _ too much and not enough at all  _ and it feels as if Chan is determined to get back at him for teasing Changbin so cruelly before. 

But Changbin acts as if he’s forgiven, brushing his hair away from his face and kissing him roughly. When they part with a bodily  _ smack  _ he speaks dryly, almost to the point of being disinterested. “I think he needs to be fucked. I definitely need to get fucked.” 

_ Yes.  _ He  _ needs  _ to get fucked. The knowledge that he’s gonna be inside Changbin again? Even better. 

As if on command, Chan withdraws his fingers. 

But Seungmin doesn’t feel empty until he watches Changbin crawl across the mattress, closing the gap between himself and Chan. They whisper so softly to one another now. He can’t hear, but he doesn’t need to, not when he can see their soft half smiles, brows furrow in concern. 

“No, I wanna watch you fuck him a little first. It’s only fair,” Changbin’s laughter ,not an acerbic chuckle, but an honest to god, head thrown back, smile wide laugh, interrupts his progress trying to roll a condom down Chan’s cock. 

“You good with that?” Chan asks. 

“Yeah.” 

“We’ll do it this way then,” Chan beckons him closer. “C’mere. On your knees, in front of me.” 

Only when he moves does Seungmin become aware of just how used his body already feels. Neck stiff from being pushed and held into place on his back. There’s a burn in his hips and down his back, fingerprints and nail scratches. 

Soothingly, Chan guides him so that he’s leaning against his chest. 

Chan applies more lube to his cock, Changbin guides him down. 

It hurts when Chan finally fucks into him, but in a way that makes his cock twitch against his stomach. Like having his hair pulled, or having his neck bitten, pain registers, but his cock twitches in stark contrast. 

Chan’s breath, uneven in the shell of his ear, “just lean back, let me hold you. Ah--yeah. Yeah, just like that.” 

“Tell me,” Changbin’s voice is rougher now. The way that he gets when he’s made up his mind about something, and won’t change it. “How does feel, getting fucked by my husband?” 

Seungmin considers this carefully. How does Chan feel? How does Chan make him feel. 

There are words to describe his size: substantial, generous, gratuitous, ample, voluminous. There are words to describe the sensation: a pang, a prick, an agonizing glow. There are words to describe the way Chan’s soft puff of breath against his neck, and the slow circles that are rubbed into the crest of his hip make him feel: vulnerable, susceptible, assailable, or tender. Of course Seungmin goes with the most eloquent of all of these, “You know why they call it vacation dick?” 

“Cause you finally got away from all those bland Ivy fuckboys, so we could give it to you right?” Changbin’s voice is tinged with laughter. 

“Ah-” Chan laugh-stutters in embarrassment against the nape of his neck, and it feels so different from the nervous laugh that Chan so often uses to fill the spaces in-between words. 

Then his eyes travel to just in the distance, just behind him, to Chan. “So you’re doing good. Maybe too good.” 

The sting fades to a burn that fans out across Seungmin’s stomach and his chest. Leaning back against Chan, he can feel each heaved breath, and each flutter of his stomach. Each roll of his hips drives deeper, cranking up the urgency. 

He doesn’t ask for Changbin. He doesn’t beg, despite the fact that his untouched cock leaks, precum dribbling down onto the duvet. It’s not about pride. It’s about letting Changbin experience this  _ one  _ thing before they move onto the next. About Changbin doing the same for him. 

A haphazard kiss lands on his jaw, and that’s when he knows that it’s time. Seungmin turns towards him. Leans into him and lets the kiss happen even though his mouth and tongue feel so abused. It’s strange, how even such an act of tender love can become brutal over time. 

“You ready?” Changbin’s fingers are threaded through his hair. 

“Yeah.” All of it accented by the soft steady sound of skin slapping against skin as Chan fucks him. 

Changbin puts another condom on his dick. Just like that, Changbin’s on his hands and knees, pushing his back into a perfect arch. Just like that, Seungmin’s guiding his cock back inside of him. 

It looks even better this time, when the head of his cock slips into his hole and he pushes himself deeper. Feels better too, because he knows that the whole reason that he’s fucked open and loose is  _ because of him.  _

When they’re all finally joined, the whole room exhales. It feels complete, and it feels chaotic. How can relief still be fraught with so much tension? Because when they’re all joined together, the task seems insurmountable. Finding a rhythm is difficult. Chan will push into him, and like a domino, it makes him push into Changbin. But this makes him feel unsteady, uneven. 

Seungmin finds purchase in holding onto the muscular, unblemished underside of Changbin’s thighs, a pretty and new place to dust bruises. This way, he’s able to fuck into him in slow, deep strokes. Almost, but never quite perfectly timed with Chan’s. No, this is different. Like a ripple effect from Chan’s body, through his to Changbin’s. 

Something like a conduit. Something like a proxy. But neither of those, at least not completely. Because they want  _ him  _ for who he is. 

Changbin soft, and wet, and warm. Chan hard, and rough, and demanding. So different from their external personalities. As much as he wants this to last for forever, his body demands otherwise. He cums quickly, and this time it feels torn from him. Where everything built slowly before, this happens with a sudden pang. Pleasure is mixed with a strange sharp feeling just below his naval. 

Seungmin can’t say that he knows up from down anymore, but there’s one thing he knows for certain. He knows an awful words for hot. Steaming, sweltering, blistering, balmy, feverish, searing, broiling, febrile. Immolated with a smile. 

Seungmin is the farthest thing from tepid he’s ever been, and he never wants to cool off. 

* * *

Changbin and Chan fuck again after he cums. The sight of Changbin riding Chan into the mattress, and his hole smattered with cum give him a lot to think about. 

There’s a common misconception that envy and jealousy are perfect synonyms. First of all, that’s absurd, there are no perfect synonyms. Envy in fact describes the desire for something, tangible or intangible that another person possesses. Jealousy describes the perception of threat from a third party.  Changbin and Chan make him feel both frequently and simultaneously. Each instance, strangely just as difficult to process as the last. But the thing that he understands least of all is how Changbin and Chan seem to be neither envious or jealous. It bubbles just under the surface, but manifests in morbid curiosity and quid-pro-quo permission. 

Even though they just did what they did, seemingly without a hitch, he’s still not certain how it all worked. 

His thoughts are interrupted by a flash of icy cold at the nape of his neck. “I’d ask you a penny for your thoughts, but I don’t think I have enough in my bank account.” Chan says, shaking a can of pineapple juice at him. 

“Hm? Oh,--” Seungmin accepts. 

Changbin, still naked, crawls back into Seungmin’s lap with an can of juice. Clumisily, he spills half of it onto the already ruined duvet. 

“Ah, Changbin!” Chan, instead of tossing the blanket onto the floor pulls Seungmin back on the bed, flush against his chest. 

No one else speaks. 

He wants to ask what happens next. Is there anywhere they can go from here? Too bad when he opens his mouth it comes out as, “can I have some?” 

Changbin’s opened a can of cheddar Pringles. 

At some point, Changbin turns on the bedroom television. An ancient kung-fu movie plays on screen, and even though the movie is muted Seungmin identifies with it heavily. The dubbing conveys  _ almost  _ exactly what was contained in the original, but the mouth movements just don’t quite match. 


	6. Fotzepolitic

Seungmin awakens to a pair of large, loving, chocolate brown eyes staring deeply into his own. Uneven, the way that it feels like those eyes stare deep into his soul and offer nothing in response but a sneeze directly into his face, and a tongue dragged across his cheek. 

Berry is awake, and therefore, someone else needs to be awake too. 

“Aw, come on,” Seungmin grabs the dog and pulls her to his chest, roughing her fur and waiting, waiting, waiting, patiently for his mind to come back to him. Someone’s arm is wrapped around his middle, dense with muscle. Hot breath tickles the back of his neck. 

Memories of last night flood back into his mind’s eye. First, the memory of his cock buried to the hilt inside of Changbin. 

_ That happened.  _

Where the first memory is an image, the next is a sensation. Blunt, addictive pressure, Chan’s cock was inside of him...in a lot of places. 

_ That happened too.  _

And the next memory isn’t a feeling, or an image, or a sound, just a general sense of chaos as they all fucked together. 

_ That happened,  _ and the only proof is the soreness in his body and the mountain of clothing and condom wrappers next to the bed. 

The dog growls, not in the threatened or angry kind of way that dogs can growl, but in the inconvenienced kind of way that only older, smaller dogs seem to do. As if he’s got a lot of nerve for not tending to her immediately. “Alright.” 

As he sits up, Chan stirs next to him. With squinted eyes he looks up with him in dizzy confusion. “Where y’goin’?” 

“I’ll let Berry out. Go back to sleep.” 

By some miracle, Chan listens to him and his eyes flutter back closed. 

Looking at his phone, it’s half past six. They didn’t sleep until at least after two, but Seungmin’s never felt more awake. 

He finds the robe within the path of strewn clothes, ties the belt loosley, and gathers Berry in his arms. “Let’s go.” 

It’s only when he’s risen from the bed that he can truly assess the aftermath of last night. 

On the other side of Chan, Changbin starfishes upon the bed on his stomach. Although the bed is  _ clearly  _ large enough for three people, he takes up the lion’s share of space. This explains, at least in part, why Chan became his jetpack at some point during the night. Although, he’s pretty sure that Chan’s a serial cuddler regardless. 

Looking at their skin, he can see that they’re covered in love bites too, and it makes him feel happy knowing that some of them were placed there by him. He’ll linger on their skin, even if its only for a few more days before fading away into memory. 

Once outside, in the back yard, he realizes that there’s no morning dew in the grass. In fact, now that Seungmin is sober, and stands upon it, he’s fairly certain that it’s fake. 

The morning sun threatens to peak up above the horizon, but for the moment, the whole world holds her breath. The sky, streaked in morning blue, and purple mingle with starry night sky for one brief and fleeting moment. 

One brief and fleeting moment. 

So all of that happened. 

What now? 

Seungmin was in no way a virgin when he met them. But he’s wanted something like this, maybe since he took a shot out of Chan’s navel. Maybe since the very first time he grabbed his underwear and darted out of a frat house. Last night,  _ what sex could be  _ met with  _ what sex was  _ for one brief and fleeting moment _.  _ He got something that he’d wanted for a very long time. A couple of years, versus a couple of days out in the desert. 

What now? 

If he’s learned anything from years and years of prep courses, and long nights at the library, it’s this. There are many ways of learning. There’s reading and remembering, and it’s the least effective. He’s tried that before, and it’s part of the reason why so many of his past experiences fell short. Surface level. 

There’s application, a deeper way of knowing. He did that last night, especially in those moments where it felt like two people having sex three different times. Yeah, he sucked Chan’s dick. Yeah, he fingered Changbin, and all of it was good. 

There’s one more way of learning, and it’s supposed to be the very best. The way that knowledge becomes ingrained into your very essence. Creation. Together, they created something brand new and it was sloppy, imperfect, and breathtaking in all the right ways. And he feels like in the future, if and when he meets someone, he can create again anew. 

If and when, but what about now? Now more boxes are checked. More fingers go down at the next game of  _ never have I ever.  _ It doesn’t change who he is, not by a long shot. But it changes the way that others perceive him, which means it changes the way that he feels about himself. The next time he’s at a campus dive choking down a beer, he’ll approach someone. 

But what about now? 

They feel too close to simply be one night stands. 

They feel too distant to ask for anything more. 

It would be so nice. Simple really, to just let them have their way with them. Tell him what to do, and practice with him what they’ve spent so much time perfecting with each other. But no, instead of having sex around him, they had sex with him, and it all feels too personal now. 

Especially when his plane departs in four hours. 

* * *

Standing in the middle of the yard, in the center of the circle of broken flock of lawn geese statues, Seungmin glows in the crepuscular morning light. No, that’s not right. The sun hasn’t yet crested above the horizon, and that’s for a reason. Seungmin shines like the sun, and they cannot be in the same place at once lest he outshine her. 

Seungmin sits in a squat position on the lawn, so that he’s closer to Berry. Between the two of them they fight over a frayed rope toy, one of dozens or more strewn about the yard and house. 

It seems like this may be one of those rare times where there’s no calculation, no analysis, backup plan, and no worry in his expression. 

Its something that isn’t lost on him, Changbin either, that they can make him feel this way. An assumption is made, a big one at that, that very few people bring this out in him. 

For a brief fleeting moment, he considers begging Seungmin to stay. Be their houseboy or something, because Changbin can afford it, and wouldn’t mind, not one bit...Although, he’s not sure how to best broach that question, let alone with someone who has plenty of aspirations, like going to law school. 

The image of Seungmin playing with the dog he’s had since he was in grade school is very real before him. The image of Seungmin sitting at the table, finishing his readings while Chan makes breakfast, and they both wait for Changbin to wake up, is very imagined. He likes them both very, very much. 

“Hey,” Seungmin grabs the rope toy and launches it across the lawn. With it, goes Berry. Seungmin rises slowly, wiping the palms of his hands upon Chan’s bathrobe. “Good morning.” 

“Morning.” Completely compulsory, Chan pulls him into his arms. When they’re standing like this, Seungmin’s back pressed to his chest, it puts him in the perfect position to reach the right places, the places that make Seungmin quiver and gasp in warm surprise. After all, Seungmin is taller. Still, he manages, placing a kiss at the juncture of his neck and his shoulder. 

Seungmin nuzzles slightly into the touch. “The mountains are so pretty out here during the daytime.” He latches onto Chan’s forearms and squeezes. 

“I mean, I have a great view.” 

“Oh, come on,” and at that Seungmin breaks contact. 

Chan manages to grab onto his arm, but it’s Seungmin who pulls him back close, facing each other now. “After all that, you’re gonna use that kind of line with me?” 

“It’s not not working,” Chan responds. 

Seungmin’s lips look chapped and dry, but that doesn’t make his mouth any less kissable. The kiss opens with a question, soft or needy. The kiss continues with an answer, maybe one that neither of them want. The kiss is gentle, but his mouth is bruised. Their tongues brush, and touch, and none of it should stir up as much need as it does. 

When they part, Seungmin’s looking at him thoughtfully. 

Looking at him look at him thoughtfully. 

“Chan, what’s next?” 

“That’s the question of the day isn’t?” 

“Hm.” 

In that moment, it becomes very easy to grab the rope toy that Berry’s dropped at their feet, and launch it across the yard once more. Chan considers his answer as he watches her dart across the lawn. 

“You probably think this is so foolish.” 

“Huh?” 

That’s not right. He and Changbin strong armed their way into his brain and scrambled the frequency. “Or you will, maybe when you’re back home. A week or two from now. You know. One rich kid marries another, richer kid before either of them is twenty-five. No prenup, no family present, just a whole lot of nothing to prove.” 

“None of that was ever told to me before.” 

“Oh, like it was omitted,” and Chan can’t help but smile. 

“I omitted some stuff too...Like, you wanna know why I wanted to do all of this?” 

“Yeah.” 

“I never fought with my parents. I never came back to the dorm drunk. My roommates have never caught me balls deep in a guy, and honestly? I wanted to do something reckless. So that’s why I did it, and never asked for a single reason why.” 

“But you wanted to do those things.” 

“More than anything.” Seungmin responds. “And I never could.”

“You keep acting like you’re hiding something.” He keeps hearing about this version of Seungmin. It’s not that he doesn’t believe that he’s real, its just that he refuses to believe that he’s so pronounced. “Like the real you is different from the you I see right now.” 

“Yeah, and when I leave what if I go back to being that person?” Seungmin asks. 

How? How does he even begin to respond to Seungmin? Seungmin has a strong sense of duty to some unseen master: his parents, himself, an imagined version of his brother, a now nameless and faceless classmate who bested him years ago. Chan doesn’t understand. Not because he isn’t driven by a strong sense of duty, but because his master has never been some unseen tormentor. He sleeps inside while clutching a pillow. His name is Changbin, and Chan has always been himself even when it was difficult. 

How does he respond? He starts by spilling his guts. “Changbin first asked me to marry him when he was eighteen, and I was like, twenty.”

“What? You made it sound like this happened last week.” 

“It kind of feels that way.” Chan admits. “I said yes, but we were too young. So we agreed when Changbin was twenty. Somehow that turned into when I finished undergrad. Well, that happened last year...” 

“So you were gonna be that couple who was engaged forever?” 

“We also wanted to...” And suddenly he’s at a loss for words. Now of all times. “For a long time we thought about it. With another person.” Suddenly, he has so much to say. More than he’s probably at liberty to say with Changbin still tucked in bed. But the words spill out nevertheless. “But it became this weird, built up thing too. We couldn’t do it with a stranger because it was too impersonal. We couldn’t do it with a close friend, because things might get weird. We couldn’t go for an acquaintance. Because we have a lot of acquaintances. One owes us a hundred bucks, and the other owes us a thousand bucks, the others come around only when there’s a party. This still sounds like the tragic ballad of a spoiled rich kid.” 

Seungmin responds with blunt sympathy. “It is and it isn’t. Fake deep and real deep.” 

There’s a pause, a lull in the conversation, because he knows what comes next. 

Seungmin kisses him, not because he knows, but because he understands. He understands what it’s like to be at a loss for words, and need the briefest of reprieve. He’s given Seungmin so many, and even though Seungmin owes him nothing it feels so good to be repaid right now. 

“No one was ever good enough to fuck, so it became like this whole thing too. We couldn’t find someone else to fuck. We couldn’t get married, and it just turns out we’re really horrible with decisions. So we started joking that if we found someone, that we both wanted, they’d be so special. We’d have to do something special.” 

“So you’re telling me after what, four years, you finally got married...because you met me, and you wanted to fuck me.” 

Chan nods. 

“God, we’re all really stupid.” 

“Don’t forget childish,” Chan adds with a sheepish half smile.

And in that moment, he’s so grateful for the sight of Changbin, shoeless, shirtless, pantless out in the yard. He’s wearing Chan’s underwear, and so the waistband slips down the crest of his hips. Sleepily, Changbin will yank the elastic back up, but only after it’s fallen half down the crest of his hips. His eyes heavy with sleep, his expression pulled into a scowl. 

As if walking across the lawn had taken all of his strength, he tumbles dramatically down onto the grass. 

It’s natural, expected even, for he and Seungmin to tumble with him, so they do. 

Finding the grass too itchy for his liking, Changbin soon climbs onto Chan’s chest, and throws his legs over Seungmin’s. Like this, he uses them as a human bridge. “Are the two of you being dramatic?” 

Their silence is as good as a  _ yes.  _

“I could feel it. Pulled me out of an amazing dream.”

They watch the sun rise together, in various stages of undress out on the lawn. Only when the sun has finally crested above the horizon does Changbin break the silence. 

Chan wishes his husband wouldn’t ask, because even though it hasn’t been discussed, in some ways he already knows. “Cherry, how much longer do you have?” 

“My flight leaves at eleven-thirty.” 

* * *

“Here,” a familiar voice cuts into his favorite podcast. A grease stained cinnabon box interrupts his field of vision, not that he had much of a view to begin with. The airport terminal carpet is gray-navy, and his family has staked out seats in front of a bagel stand. “Eat this. If I have another bite I’ll throw up, and I can’t stop myself.” 

It’s Wonpil. And that’s odd because, “what are you doing here? I thought your flight left before ours?” 

“Delayed for an hour!” He announces. 

“That’s what you get for going with a budget airline,” although he gets the feeling Wonpil had no choice at all. After all his parents bought everyones’ ticket. 

“I don’t mind really. Gives me a chance to spend just a little bit more time with my brother.” At that, Wonpil claims the seat next to Seungmin, even though he very clearly had his backpack resting on it. 

Instead of placing his backpack onto the floor with the rest of the luggage, he shoves it into Seungmin’s side like a barrier between them. 

But, he can’t say that he really minds the company. Mom and dad have abandoned him for the Starbucks line, and he’s been left with the daunting task of sitting in this one, exact spot, with multiple carry-ons and backpacks scattered around him. 

Seungmin opens the Cinnabon box and lays into the half eaten pastry with the same plastic fork that Wonpil used. Usually that kind of thing would bother him. Now? 

What does it matter? 

“How’d you spend your last night of vacation?” 

He must be wearing it on his face, a look deep and pensive. Because it still doesn’t feel completely real to him. He’s certainly wearing it across his chest. Brand new, cotton blend, Valentino branded across his chest, because they said the cleaner couldn’t remove  _ all  _ of the wine stains from his shirt. The sweatshirt cost a small fortune, but it hides all the hickies up his neck, and for that he’s grateful. 

“I had a threesome with your friends on their wedding night.”

“No kidding. You always did have a flair for the dramatic, huh?” 

Seungmin recognizes bait when he sees it. But it’s a trap that his brother is setting, so he walks into it with wild enthusiasm. “Yeah, so that’s what I did. Your nerdy little brother. Which means you probably did something really crazy.” 

“Yeah, I got an emergency call to do synth for Gaga’s show.” 

“Okay, but what did you really do?” Seungmin asks between bites of cinnamon roll.

“Seungmin, I went to the dispensary. Then I ate so many edibles and got so high that I started  _ crying  _ because I couldn’t remember why sand, which obviously lives in the ocean, got so far inland. In the desert. You know. Where there’s no water. So then I thought like, you know? Was the sand here sad because it wasn’t in its natural habitat?”

“Oh my god.” 

“It was wild as hell. After I stopped crying I ate a bunch of sushi and passed out.” 

It goes silent for a moment between them. the gate next to theirs board, and people push and shove in front of them. Eventually, Wonpil ends the silence between them. “Seriously though, it was really cool to hang with you the last couple days.” 

“Yeah, same.” 

“You should come out to LA sometime.” It’s the kind of invitation that Seungmin’s been waiting for forever, but thought would never come. “I mean. I know like three people here. Imagine what you could do where I know a ton of people. You could have an orgy.” 

“Fuck off.” 

“Seriously. I don’t know. I never thought that we didn’t have things in common. I know we do. It’s just at some point, you spend so much time apart you don’t even know where to begin to catch up. So it’s like there’s nothing to talk about. You know?” 

“Yeah.” Yeah, he really does. 

“When you come out, we’re actually in a house now. We have this little walled in back porch. Brian put a daybed out there. It’s small as hell actually, but you could have your own space. If you wanted.” 

“Yeah, like in the summer?” 

“Yeah.” 

“You seem to be pretty anti-east coast these days. But Boston can be fun. Even campus. Like, every spring we have this thing called Mather Lather where we seal off a dining hall and fill it with foam.” 

“You know there’s clubs that do that for a $20 cover, not thirty grand in tuition.” Wonpil smiles in response. 

“Oh my god, I’ve been doing it wrong this whole time.” 

“I mean, Boston does have a good music scene.” Wonpil sounds enthusiastic like he’s actually, really, seriously considering it.

“That would be really great. I mean if you could.” 

From the corner of his eye he can see his mother and father returning, green and white cups in hand. With worry, his mother calls, “Wonpil? Wonpil? Baby did you miss your flight?” 

The moment is gone, and all that’s left is the kind of plan that’s easily made in the spur of the moment and rarely acted upon. Seungmin has to ask himself, as the taste of almond milk washes away the taste of icing upon his tongue, if he’s going to believe that things are going to be different now. 

* * *

“Hold on, hold on, hold on,” Seungmin told them to call at four, but they never seem to remember how time zones work. With a damp finger, Seumgmin struggles to swipe right on his phone to answer the Facetime call. 

Walking, answering the phone, and keeping the towel tight around his waist all at the same time is much harder than it should be. Seungmin slip-slides out of his shower shoes and dumps his caddy onto the floor along with his phone. 

Wonderful. 

“Hey guys.” Seungmin doesn’t bother to step into the frame or grab his phone until he’s picked up his soap, his shampoo, conditioner, facial scrub, and loofa up off the floor. Then, and only then does he pick up the phone and smile into the front facing camera. 

He’s greeted with the sight of Changbin smiling at him. His whole face takes up the screen. As he pulls back, he notices that he’s wearing a cut off shirt that shows off his arms. Pulling further back, Chan comes into view. Lazily, almost as if it were for Seungmin, and for Seungmin alone, he does a few bicep curls with a free weight. 

They call him from the gym a lot. 

“What are you doing Cherry?” 

“Uh, I just got out of the shower.” 

“Spicy.” 

“Because you guys never listen to when I tell you to call. I have to put you down again.” Seungmin does, putting down his phone and fumbling for his keys. 

Bedroom door unlocked, he launches himself into bed, and arranges the pillows against the headboard and his lap so he can hold the phone without exerting  _ too  _ much effort. 

Although the whole world felt upended in Vegas, Seungmin soon returned to Boston just to find that everything had been knocked off kilter ever so slightly. He’s still an Econ major at Harvard. He took the LSAT, and scored 162. 

He’s applied to everything except law school: programs to teach English in Korea, working holiday visa in Australia, attendant jobs at some country club in Las Vegas...Anything to do before he has to do  _ something _

“We felt you missing us.” 

“Me, missing you? You always call early and--” 

“Seungmin,” Chan’s voice interrupts  _ before  _ the argument can erupt between himself and Changbin. He places the weight back onto the rack and steps into the frame. “When should we buy you a ticket?” 

“Okay, okay, Seungmin opens his laptop and opens up his Outlook calendar. “My last final is on the 5th. I’m going to LA for a few days on the 7th. I don’t know how long Wonpil and I can hypothetically exist in the same space.” 

“Wait, do we need to buy a ticket for your boyfriend so he can come too?” 

“He’s not! Oh my god” He shouldn’t have said anything. “Two dates. Two dates Changbin.” 

“I don’t know. I wouldn’t mind meeting him,” Chan muses.

“Right?” Changbin cuts in. “I want to know what kind of intentions an older man like that has with our Seungmin.” 

“Intentions? Heejin is an angle compared to the two of you.” He can feel the heat creep slowly up over the collar of his pajama shirt and rise up into his cheeks. It’s the kind of discomfort that’s best dealt with through retaliation. “Well, I mean, maybe we can talk if I can meet Hyunjin.” 

“You already met Hyunjin at the house party.” 

“Okay then,” if they want to get down to semantics, he can do that too. “Okay, will I get to meet Yeonjun then? Or Wooyoung? Because I know they weren’t at the party, because you  _ just  _ met them.” 

“What Seungmin?” Chan shakes the phone distorting the image of the two of them. “You’re breaking up. Your connection must be bad.” 

They know that he’s seeing other people. He knows that in addition to each other, they’re seeing other people. He’d be lying if he said that jealousy didn’t exist there on both sides. But sometimes, often times, it’s enough to know that they were each others’ impetus. No matter who they bring home, it’s because Seungmin gave them courage. No matter who he brings home, it’s because they gave him courage. 

And if he thinks about it like that, especially after one or two pints at the draft house, where the bartender now knows him by name, it makes him feel warm. 

“Wait, I got it. Don’t we want to go to the ah--” Changbin turns to Chan and looks at him like he expects to know the answer with very little description. It’s something that, no matter how frequently they call, he still can never quite get used to. The secret little language, spoken in half sentences and non-verbals that exist between Changbin and Chan is impossible to decipher, but sounds like poetry nevertheless. 

“Yeah, we’re gonna go see a show in Burbank on the 13th. What if we picked you up on the way back?” 

He imagines the way that he’s going to feel in the early summer sun, blanketed by desert heat, and wedged between the two of them on caramel colored, buttery smooth leather seats. Anything but tepid. 

“Yeah,” Seungmin responds. “That’d be real cool.” 

  
  
  



End file.
